Steamscape World Pack

By D. Dalton

Three short stories + one full length novel! Steamscape In a world powered by steam, shredded by a civil war between the country’s largest corporation and the government, with millions trapped on either side, our hero, Solindra Canon is reading fashion magazines. It’s not her fault. She’s never been away from the little waystation in the mountains, and her entire world is the people passing through on trains, who often abandon their newspapers and magazines. That world violently disintegrates the day that a Reaper steps out of the passenger car. She’s been in hiding her entire life; she’s just never known it. The only people she’s known are suddenly strangers, even her late father, as they reveal the secrets they’ve kept from her all this time. The world away from the waystation also turns out to be a horrible caricature of the stories told in those magazines. It is a much darker place. The civil war is eating through the hearts, homes and hopes of all the citizens, and there’s something called Killing Trains sweeping the countryside. Even Solindra’s idol, the one shining star she has held sacred, is nothing like she had dreamed. It’s time to grow up. It’s time to learn and act on why she is such a threat to both the corporation and the government just by existing. This steampunk adventure is a bittersweet tale growing up in war and doing what is right no matter how impossible it seems; a story of sacrifice, devastating choices, betrayal, redemption, alternative history technology and of course, impeccable fashion. Sandy Marlin, Frontier Brewer The continent’s finest brewer lives alone in the wilderness, while her supplier attempts to convince her that it’s too dangerous in the wild before it’s too late. Candy Apple Red A father tries to buy ownership of a horrible outlaw in order to secure a new mechanical heart for his dying daughter, only to find that it’s all a setup to steal the Chaos Star, his perpetual motion machine. God-Brother An evil secret society blackmails Stetson St. Kyle into stealing for them while threatening to expose his secret organization that rescues children forced into slave labor by the government.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. Dalton
• Release date: Feb 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370696147

D. Dalton

Award winning science fiction, fantasy, steampunk, historical author and screenwriter.

Book preview

Steamscape World Pack

Copyright © 2015 Deborah Dalton

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events and places, or any other works of fiction, are purely coincidental.

Table of Contents:

Sandy Marlin, Frontier Brewer

Candy Apple Red

Steamscape Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

God-Brother

***

Sandy Marlin, Frontier Brewer

The steam whistle screeched, but I was already working as fast as I could to pull on the stuck valve with my oven mitts. It snapped open. The boiling wort flowed through the hose attached to the bottom of the pot, down through the copper coil around the liquid nitrogen, and into the next pot.

The temperature gauges told the story, 120 Celsius to 10 in just a few seconds.

I stepped back and wiped the golden hair away from my eyes. The leather strap that I used to pull it away from my face had finally worn all the way through this morning. The woman who had pretended to be my mother had always said that a girl’s pride was her hair, but I am more tempted than ever to hack it all off, especially this summer. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone out here.

Through the open door, I watched the cogwheels whirling in the breeze where I had propped the old ones out like pinwheels. The steam hissed through the pipes coming out from my generator, forge and cooking unit. It did everything, including powering some crackling electric lights at night.

I stepped through the door into the instantly cooler air and breathed out. Then I scanned the skies for a distant airship or maybe some interesting clouds. No one else dwells out here. I smiled as the scent of the wort sauntered outside to meet the sweet, mountain air.

That’s me, Sandy Marlin, frontier brewer.

Alcohol is my trade, and not just the swill that can power engines as well as clean out your guts. Well, okay some of that—when I need to scrub my machines—but I’m talking about the good stuff. Like my chocolate oatmeal stout, or my other various wines and beers. All of them made out here, by me, in the lonesome.

The sudden mechanical blare of a horn shook me down in my bones. I clenched my fist and growled as I turned. Only one horn like that ventured this way.

The blimp’s shadow eclipsed the sun like a very personal moon. Figures threw sandbags over the side, and the gangplank lowered before the craft even landed.

The wind rustled the dried grasses around me while I watched the arriving vessel. A shadowy figure approached the railing and turned into the sunlight. Mr. Charles Francis Rupert himself, the man of three first names. He still came himself, and I had to credit him for it.

He ambled down the plank just as it kissed the ground, coattails swirling out behind him, reminiscent of a cloak. He doffed his top hat and even winked at me. Then he pulled back his waistcoat, just enough so that I would see the laser pistol adorning his hip.

He showed it off every time. For all I knew, that thing didn’t even have a battery, but it was shiny, and he was a shiny fellow.

I realized how tense I was, waiting for it. I tried to push the knot of tangles from my face with all the grace I could summon. My jaw was closing together with every heartbeat.

He smoothed his mustache. What could drive a woman to live out here alone?

Every time. Every single time.

So I replied the same as always, What would drive someone out here to seek her?

We both exhaled with the ceremony done.

He raised his hand and jostled his coat, revealing the pistol again—purely by accident, I’m sure. Then he snapped his fingers like a small thunderclap.

Servants, at least he always assured me that he paid for their services, hustled down the plank with trunks of supplies. Their ill-fitted and threadbare clothes clashed against the polished wood and elaborate brass of the crates they carried.

Charles folded a velvet bag of gold into my fingers and winked again.

I dropped it into the leather pouch on my waist without checking.

I’m such a fool. He offered an exhausted smile. Bullets. You had asked for bullets.

I sighed. Well, if that’s the worst of it… I shrugged.

You need to move to the city, my dear. You wouldn’t need bullets there.

I raised a doubtful eyebrow and shook my head. Water’s better here. Unless you want me to create sludge wine like the liquid manure your other brewers make. I tasted that gasoline.

I watched the muscles on his face tighten. The cities are different from when you were younger, Sandy. And for that ugly part of humanity that has remained, I have hired protection for it.

I waved my hand and started to turn away. Every time, Charles. Over his shoulder, I watched his servants tiptoe up the gangplank with my charming wines.

Five hundred times over.

I stopped.

I sell what you make for over five hundred times what it costs me to supply you. You’re the glimmer on the jewel, Sandy. It could be well over six hundred if you moved to the city, and I didn’t have to fly out here. You could make more of your sweet ambrosia poison, and with better equipment. You would have help.

I have everything I need. I bent to open one of the trunks’ lids, but I had inhaled the scents of citrus and strawberries long before I ever lifted it. Sweat gathered on the outside of the trunk, between its interior and the hollow divider full of ice.

Only because of me. I know that the gold just piles up. You have nowhere to spend it out here.

I shrugged again. I’ll need it in case you ever disappear on me. Besides, I’ve got the chickens, and I could always sell the eggs.

To whom? He threw open his hand to the wild hills. The tribes?

I tried to ignore my involuntary shiver. I left them a few bottles on the night of the new moon when they were in the area, and they had always left me alone. However, it was just a medicinal promise—they could charge in if they ever wanted.

Tribes have got trading contacts. I could be back in business in a few months. Or maybe I’ll just sell straight to the outlaws. I froze right in my verbal knife twist thinking about the bank robbers, the mine thieves and the butchers. I forced a tight smile. Of course, they don’t come this far across tribal land. They go south.

Charles grabbed my arm. Not since the Illani closed their borders and started shooting anyone without a passport.

I looked him right in those spicy green eyes.

He squeezed. I mean it this time.

I pulled up on his thumb and unwrapped his fingers. You mean it every time.

No one would ever find your corpse out here.

You probably would, if I died at home.

That’s a big if. I have dozens of staff now, even more servants, and two mansions, two. I would let you live in one.

Then who would look after my chickens?

Sandy.

I am not going back.

He huffed and straightened his suit jacket. It’s different now.

I shook my head. I wanted to say that I could always find another supplier, but stopped short of it. According to the magazines, he was so proud of, Charles was the king of beer, but I could sell the power behind the throne.

Mr. Rupert stuck up his chin and snapped his fingers again. His servants jerked to attention and scuttled up the gangplank after him.

From the deck of his ship, he winked down at me again. Propellers whirred and the fins lowered on its sides as the entire contraption started to sail away from my little valley.

I sighed, watching the aircraft rise like a child’s toy, dwindling smaller by the second. Maybe there were palaces again somewhere. Maybe there was a woman calling herself a duchess just because she’d been a bigger bastard than the rest, but not out here.

Digging holes into the soft soil with my feet, I dragged the trunks with the perishables into the cellar. I had rigged up my own refrigeration powered by my center generator via a chain and steampipes between the house and the underground structure.

Everything else I left where it had dropped. It wasn’t cleanup day until the next morning, and I needed more of my liquid platinum ingredient.

I walked over and kicked the frame of my beetle rover. A few more bits of rust and dust drifted up in a small cloud, but the beastie still worked. Six mechanical legs shuddered as I pushed the ignition lever into place. The therm in the engine came alive, and seconds later, the water started to sizzle inside its belly. Some electrical pops sounded toward the rear and the machine stood up.

I rolled the throttle forward and the beastie jumped into motion, running tirelessly up the slopes toward the distant peaks. Its heavy metal hooves struck deep grooves into the mud before the ground faded into stones. We were going into the wind, but I was smiling.

The beetle was never a smooth ride, but it was the best machine for the mountains. It didn’t have wheels to get stuck in creeks and crevices. It had lizard pads to navigate rocks and slopes.

The therm kept me warm the higher we rose. The explosive-tipped arrows rattled in their sheath next to the aged rifle. With the rover on a straight path, I leaned back to string the bow. I hadn’t encountered a bear or a cougar in a long time, but that didn’t mean they’d moved away. I always assumed that the beetle’s engine scared them off before I ever saw them.

Bullets were too rare to risk on animals, especially since Charles had forgotten to resupply me. Gun oil was scarce too, and you had to clean those things every time you used them. Then again, you have to use the oil for carboys, hoses and brew pots too, but damn it, those things were important.

So is the water. After a few hours, I stopped the rover by the deceptively fast stream in the higher valley. Glaciers sparkled on against the gray rocks up in the distance, and a cool wind stung my unprotected skin.

The stream, sparkling like clear diamonds in the light, was colder still. Its water had not yet been kissed by the warmth of the sun, nor picked up any muck as it did when it hit the plains. Clean, fresh and crisp. Nothing but the best for my brews.

The scent of lilac carried on the air, and I thought that would be a nice final touch to add to a mellow wine.

I gathered my hoses and set the pumps to work. The beetle carried two barrels—glass coated on the inside to keep out any metallic flavors. When I wanted a woody flavor, I would add some chips or use a wooden barrel for fermentation. Cedar would be nice to try again soon, I mused, instead of the standard oaken casks. Maybe pine.

I’d never thought about intentionally flavoring with metal. A copper-tasting beer would have tasted a little like blood, but people were into anything lately.

I rested back in the grass while the pumps plucked the ingredient from the inevitable tumble of gravity. Surprisingly, the grass was still thick and soft, and I soon drifted off.

When I awoke, the floats in the barrels had risen, causing the pumps to shut off automatically.

I yawned, stretched, and didn’t want to move. However, I had to, or else I would not make it down to my little valley in time to brew. I slithered into my station on the beetle’s back and wound the hoses back onto their wheels as I yawned again. The machine’s rocking was sleepily seductive, especially as night stretched out her blankets over the land. Sunset always arrived faster around the peaks.

I slowed the beetle, but by then, we were far enough away from the smooth rocks and sharp drops that I needn’t have worried.

I hauled on the machine brakes. I sniffed. Wildfire? Something was burning, and fires were always a danger out here, hovering just in the back of my imagination. I inhaled again, just to make certain. This was too close to home. I rammed the throttle forward and the beetle skittered ahead. The water sloshed angrily in its barrels, but remained captive.

The smell of roasting meat crawled up my nostrils the closer I got to home. What…? A singed brown chicken feather floated up past my cheek. I stopped the rover, jumped off, and then I ran back to it and snatched up the rifle. I dodged around the pines and stumbled blindly into my little garden. The blood-streaked head of a chicken stared up at me, its body several feet away.

All of my chickens were strewn amongst my smashed crops. My knees shook too much to carry me forward, and I dropped down into the tilled soil. When I looked up, the lights of the fires had come into focus. My home. Shouts echoed around the forest, and even some distant laughter. I gulped.

The local tribes wouldn’t do this. We had an agreement. Outlaws, then. Hadn’t Charles mentioned them?

It would have been best to wait, to slink away into the darkness and hide out in the cold for the night, but another fire began to burn. I checked my rifle, five rounds. I slid the first into the chamber and stood up.

The fires had eaten away my house. The door to the cellars looked intact though. The chain that connected the generator in my house that drove the mechanics and refrigeration lay broken on the ground. Pipes of steams hissed from open wounds.

Several figures, dark and orange in the fire’s shadows, ran out of the fiery frame of my door with bundles of my clothes in their arms.

I stared. They were stealing my clothes instead of letting them burn. In that case, the life of a desperado must lead to some interesting fashion statements.

I tried to snap out of it and unlock my knees. In the firelight, I saw a nugget glistening like melting wax on the ground. So they had found my gold, too. I shouldered the rifle and raised it. I didn’t think, I just pulled the trigger. The shot pinged off some of my pots strewn in the yard.

However, the outlaws had heard it. Hands flew to their own pistols and rifles. The shortest one dropped a handful of clothes straight down onto some embers. It lit his boots as he stared into the darkness, trying to see me. Yelping, he lunged away.

The others kept staring as they inched my way.

I couldn’t stay there. I tried to bend my legs, to coax them into running. The cellars! I had to make sure what was really valuable was still mine. Let them take the nuggets, I can always spin beer and wine into more gold.

The pines dragged their needles against my sleeves as I sprinted just outside the firelight. I froze and listened, flinched at every single angry shout. It sounded as if the outlaws were running into the trees where I had been. I crouched and tiptoed through the long shadow behind the cellar doors. They were open. Trying to hold my breath, I swung around, weapon at the ready. Sounds of bottles clanking together echoed up the shallow stairs. Someone was there.

I should run, I told myself. I could always make more.

My foot hovered over the first step, and then I took the plunge. The electric lights were out, and the ongoing hum of the cooling unit was quiet. It felt as if I were diving into a tomb.

Who’s there? a voice in the blackness demanded.

My attention snapped back into the present, but it was too dark to see.

A figure, about my build but taller, crashed into me. He grabbed my rifle’s butt and barrel and shoved me back toward the stairs. My assailant wore an eye-patch, an old pirate trick. That way, he could move between the blinding light of the fire, and by switching the patch to the other eye, into the shadows of the moon. With one eye already adjusted to the darkness, he had been able to see me faster than I had been able to see him.

I pushed, he pushed, and neither of us got anywhere. I stared hard at his desperate face, and immediately wondered where I had seen him before.

He ripped at the grip and my fingers were too sweaty to stick to the gun’s sleek metal anymore. Instinctively, I ducked and rolled to the side.

My head clanged against a slender, tall bottle. I knew exactly which one. I packaged this special brew in smaller bottles, because most so-called men couldn’t handle that particular juice. My fingers curled around the long neck, and I brought it around swinging.

The narrow glass cracked against his temple, and few drops of the capsicumel slithered through the fractures. He looked surprised, but that was all.

I swung again, and the honey-wine made with habanero peppers, splashed across his face and especially into his eyes. He squealed. The fragrant, burning scent of the mead reached my own nose and opened up my sinuses. Scratching at his own eyes, he rolled forward into a ball, helpless against violently tearing up.

I grabbed his collar and hauled up him the stairs and away from my cellar. He rolled to the side in the soil and I couldn’t bring myself to waste a bullet on him. The rifle snapped back into place in my shoulder.

I turned toward the nearest outlaw who was dancing around the flaming rubble of my house. I squeezed the trigger. I kept firing, in fact. I couldn’t stop, even though I tried. Three shots went in a flash. First, second, and then the third knocked him down.

He spun around, grabbing at his chest and stared at me in surprise. Then he crashed down onto his knees and slumped forward.

Back to the horses! another voice called.

The man from the cellar rose to a half-crouch and started to lumber after the voice, and I stepped out of his path. The clattering of hooves and upset whinnies soon dwindled away into the darkness. Soon, only silence could be heard. I was too exhausted to do anything, even if they came back.

The fire at my house was starting to fade since there was nothing left to burn and no wind to widen its path. My generator slumped awkwardly to the side. Fat lumps of glistening metal had pooled around its base, or hardened where it had melted off its frame. It was the only recognizable thing left.

I sat down, rifle still in my hands with one bullet left. I was lost inside my own home.

Daylight, when it came, brought no relief. I still clutched my rifle across my chest, its barrel toward the rising sun. A golden balloon separated from the solar light and slowly started its descent. Charles stood at the controls. None of his workers had accompanied him. The blimp bounced and crunched against the ground as he did his best to land.

He started to climb down the cargo net on the side, but stopped a few feet down. Bleeding hells, how do you do this? Trapped, he had to stumble his way down.

Finally, on the ground, he straightened his jacket—a different cut than the day before. He surveyed my yard. You’re coming with me right now, and I won’t hear a word otherwise.

A nice soft bed in a mansion behind thick walls sounded very comforting in the moment. I swallowed another wave of tears. It had been a long night.

I tried to stick out my chin without it trembling. Why are you here, Charles?

His eyes widened in surprise. He stuck out his hand, revealing a large box. Bullets. He pulled it back. But you won’t need them anymore.

I wiped my cheek. They just ran away. Destroyed it all and ran away. I got one of them though. He’s down in the cellar.

He stood over me and offered his hand. Cowards, the lot of them. But your gold is gone, and your house is destroyed.

Not my brews though. I guess they didn’t know how valuable you say they are.

And I’m glad for it. He smiled dully.

Something smelled wrong. Nothing physical, but it was the exact same sense as when I had smelled the fire. Where are your servants, Charles?

He stiffened. I don’t need them for this short run.

You can’t even fly that house. And I thought it took you days to get here from the city.

The last remnants of his smile faded.

I plunged on ahead, How did you know my gold was gone?

Estimated assumption.

They didn’t hurt me. Didn’t hardly try. A moment passed. I reckon the Illani didn’t close their borders. Real outlaws are still drifting south. I killed one of your men last night, didn’t I?

After a moment, he unwound with a shrug and a sly smirk. But all of your equipment and your house is destroyed. You have to come with me or starve.

I stood, using the rifle as a prop. I brought it up to my hip and pointed it. No, the only thing you were right about is that nobody will find your corpse out here.

***

Candy Apple Red

Professor Milton Apple kissed the top of his daughter’s fair hair and patted her shoulder before spinning her around. He pointed to the massive oak door leading out of his study and into the corridor. The electric lights dimmed just as her smile did. The grandfather clock’s ticking even slowed a little. It had no pendulum, it was powered by the city like everything else, and if the city’s electrical grid was shorting out…

He pushed hard on her back with the heel of his hand. Go, child.

Candy stuck out her lower lip and grabbed her father’s suit jacket. Some of her ringlets fell across her dark eyes. But they’re saying that Lady Seleste is in the city.

Rubbish and nonsense.

The entire building beneath them shuddered. Apple glanced through the window to see the horizon wobble and rise as the city rose up on its running stilts. Steam hissed out of the vents from the rooftops. He squinted to see the fighters still pouring over the walls. The citywide intercom blared its alarm, although the closed window muted its shrieking.

Candy looked up at her father, wide-eyed, and Apple shook his head. Just a drill, sweetheart.

He turned away, eyeballing the height to the top of Candy’s head. She still looked too short to see over the sill.

The professor pushed her toward the door with a firm hand. I hear that Mag is making pies. I’m sure you could steal some excess crust.

Whirling around, she bit him on the wrist.

He grimaced. Candy!

The girl dropped her grip and stared down at the floor. Sniffling, she murmured, I’m sorry.

He grabbed her shoulders, picked her up and set her down on the other side of the threshold. I’m sorry, too.

He closed the door and turned around. I know you’re here, sir, although I don’t know how.

Red moved silently, unfolding from the darkness in the corners. His bulk rose up, standing well over the professor. A horsetail hung from the back of his bronze helmet, and Apple heard the faint clicking of the gears as the massive metallic body glided over the polished wooden floor.

Nothing human left, except the heart and brain, the rumor echoed in Professor Apple’s mind.

One of the automaton’s eyes swiveled to check through the window, while the other two remained pinpointed on the professor. It looks like I’ve arrived just in time. The metallic lips did not move.

Apple leaned over his desk, his body stiff. His old-fashioned quill pen wobbled over the document in haste.

What are you doing, pray tell?

The professor swallowed. I’m updating my will. Even though my only child will die before me. He blanched as the entire city swayed, jerking into a crab-like run to escape its predators.

Red made some choking sounds, and it took Apple a few moments for his brain to digest that the sound of a bandsaw on metal was the automaton laughing.

Oh come now. She may outlive you yet. Is that not why I am here?

Apple glared.

Too many made it over the walls. Red’s eye stretched out further on its telescope just as the first cracks of the rifles reached their ears. The eyeball zoomed out. And the Chaos Star on their uniforms.

So it is Seleste. Apple looked, but all he could see were dark figures scrambling and the muzzle flashes between the invaders and defenders. Occasionally, the blinding zip of the ray guns flashed. Apple signed and dated his will. It seems the Chaos Star is in demand.

Red barked another clanging laugh. "As always. Who doesn’t want a true perpetual motion device? Such is the reason why I am willing to deal with you." The automaton started playing with the items on Apple’s bookshelf, spinning around slim volumes with huge, bulky figures. He slid a lit candle further along the wall. He tapped the base