The Heirloom Complex: A Steampunk Novel

By Gary T. White

Hundreds of years after the Great Collapse of the late 21st century, a New Industrial, Neo-Victorian society has emerged. Helena Morgan, while traveling to her father’s home in the Appalachian Province by train, is singled out for abduction.

Rescued by the reticent William Moreland, Helena finds herself embroiled in a harrowing plot to bring back an old science that could threaten her world. Will Helena and her companions stop the mysterious work of the Automata, while grinding to a halt the gears that have begun to turn toward a dark future? And, beyond this, can they deliver themselves from the Heirloom Complex?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary T. White
• Release date: Feb 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370811496

Gary T. White

Gary White grew up in a small rural town in western North Carolina where he taught Visual Arts in a local high school for thirty years. He currently works as a Minister of Discipleship in a church near his home. He is a Christian writer, artist, and speaker who enjoys reading, watching good movies, building things, and being with his growing family.

Book preview

The Heritage Complex

By Gary T. White

Copyright 2018 Gary T. White

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

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

About the Author

Chapter One

Beside the steam engine tracks lay the moldering, crumbling remains of an ancient asphalt highway. Two hundred years of disuse had taken its toll on the roadway. Now all that remained were chunks of black stone among scrubby vegetation.

The track itself was well graveled, with bright clean rails running on thick ties. Steam engines were the primary transportation of the day, traveling through the derelict landscape of the engines forgotten predecessor.

Helena Morgan was not paying attention to these remains of yesteryear. For one thing, she could not see outside the compartment window, as the incandescent lights made the windows mirror her face. Also, she had traveled many times by train, and all trains followed the same type of old asphalt roadways.

The face reflecting back at her was a face universally admired. She had large blue-gray eyes that looked out at the world with curiosity and full lips that often parted ever so slightly when she was in deep thought.

Not that she often spent much time considering her appearance, either. Well at least, no more than your average twenty-five year old living in the New Industrial Age.

Like most twenty-five year old females, she did cry out when the first explosion occurred. The Old 40, a really powerful steam locomotive, was climbing a steep grade and had slowed to around seventy miles per hour. The conductor, seeing the explosion about two miles up the track, switched on the hydro-electric brakes, which throbbed in rapid succession, bringing the train’s speed quickly down.

After the initial shock and sudden lurch of the deceleration, Helena threw open her window and stuck out her head. The train had been making a slight turn to the left so she could see the place where the explosion had occurred. A fire was burning there now and a section of the track was gone.

Suddenly another explosion, this one behind the caboose, rocked the night air. Helena quickly turned to see the explosive fire billow skyward.

Train robberies were very uncommon in this day and age, but if you were going to rob a train this was the way to do it. Modern trains had quick stop brakes and could travel backwards almost as fast as they could travel forwards. Some steam engines could go almost 150 miles an hour. They were considered so safe that marshals no longer typically rode on them.

The train came to a halt, steam rolling out of the smoke stacks. She could see men moving along the track now. They were shouting to one another. One near the engine fired a warning shot at the conductor, then shouted to the others, … car 72, compartment, he glanced down at a piece of paper, five. GO! We don’t have all night.

Helena felt her heart skip a beat, and her breath became shallow. They were heading for her car, and, worse still, they were looking for her compartment.

Why? She did not have any valuables. Apart from her mother’s brooch and a small titanium ring, an antique, she only had enough money to finish her journey to Ash Town. Her journey was almost complete for, based on the time chart, they were only four miles from the Ash Town depot. Of course, her father was well known in the area. As a prominent doctor, he would be. Could they be attempting a kidnapping, for ransom?

This is ridiculous, I…I m-must have m-misunderstood, Helena stammered, stress overtaking her practiced attempts to overcome her stutter.

She felt lightheaded. Forcing herself to breathe, she reached over and turned the lock on the compartment door closing the shade over its window. For a moment she contemplated jumping out the side window, but, as she observed, there was a rather steep drop just at the place her car had stopped and upon further consideration she did not even think she would fit through it. Instead, she closed the window and shade and sat down quickly on the cushioned bench seat.

Helena looked around the compartment for something to use as a weapon. Her bag, an empty glass, and plate from her earlier meal, and her overcoat were all that met her eye. Then she remembered she had stowed her umbrella in the rack above her head. She reached up and grabbed hold of the thick handle. She did an inventory of the others in car. An older couple was in compartment three, and a young lady with two children was in two. That was it. She did not know how many others were in other cars. It was a night train from Bentsen and would not have many passengers, the route being traveled primarily to pick up early morning freight from Ash Town.

The men were aboard and heading toward car 72 from both ends. Helena felt trapped, panic rising in her, when in the hallway lights darkened and went out, giving a slight popping sound. The hallway became pitch black. The light in Helena’s compartment followed with the same soft popping noise. Her room went dark. At that moment the door handle began to rattle. Moving into the far corner, she gripped the umbrella by the shaft brandishing it in front of her as a weapon. There was a scraping noise in the lock and then the turning of the latch. She could hear the door slowly swing open.

A deep whisper sounded from the doorway, Helena Morgan? I am not here to hurt you. You must come with me.

Helena did not move.

I need you to come now, the voice insisted. I do not know what these men have in store for you, but I do not imagine it is pleasant.

She could not see anything, but hearing movement, she swung the umbrella with all her might down in a wide arch. A satisfying thump and groan issued from the darkness. Then the umbrella was wrenched out of her hands and sent clattering to the floor.

Hands gripped her shoulders. Lashing out she threw her arms wide and kicked out. Her assailant was ready this time and blocked her attempt.

Gripping her tightly the man pulled her up and in close to prevent her from striking out again.

Helena struggled and through clinched teeth said, Unhand me. You… you will NOT touch me!

We must away, the voice insisted, then changing to a calmer timbre, I know your father, Miss Morgan. I will take you to him.

She stopped struggling for a moment and the man said urgently, Your father is James Morgan, a physician. He and I have been friends for many years. Please.

Helena thought quickly. If the man was lying, it would be no worse than if those who had stopped the train found her. Either way she was at someone else’s mercy.

I cannot see, she began. The man released her and she could hear him take a step back. Then she felt a strong gloved hand take hers. She fought the impulse to pull away. The grip tightened.

I will guide you, the voice said, deep and quiet.

The hand led her out of the compartment, then to the left. Helena could see a dim glow from the next car, but as they neared it, the glow faded and was gone. The darkness was so complete around her, it was palpable. She heard the door between the cars open and let herself be led through them. The voices were getting closer.

At the end of this car, there must have been a side exit, because the man stopped and opened a door to Helena’s right. She could tell this only by the sound, for she could see nothing. A gentle breeze blew in, and the strong hand gripping hers let go. Booted feet landed in the gravel beside the train.

Come down the ladder, I’ll catch you if you fall.

Helena felt for the handgrip and turned, slowly placing her laced boots on each rung. On the last she staggered as her foot did not find the ground, but a pair of hands caught her by the waist, setting her safely down.

There are woods in front of us. About a half mile from here is a road. Keep hold of my hand. The gloved hand gripped hers and started in the direction of the woods.

It was all very strange. She could hear her boots crunching over the brush and she could hear the movement of the person in front of her holding her hand. She knew there was no moon out tonight, but she felt as though she were blind.

She ventured a question, How can you see in this blackness?

I can see, was the only reply.

From somewhere behind them they heard a shout, Aigh! She’s not here. You men check the woods; you go through those cars, check each room. She can’t a’ gone far.

Her guide picked up his pace. Helena was stumbling, trying not to fall.

Shortly, the darkness dissipated, and the lights of a carriage came into view. She was now able to see who was leading her. Not that this told her anything about the man. He was cloaked and hooded in what looked to be a material as dark as night.

Lamplight was a welcome relief to Helena as she was helped into the carriage and the door closed. The cloaked figure jumped, and lighted on the driving board. With a flick of the reigns they started at a trot.

The interior of the carriage was not extravagant, but stylish and well tended. Helena pulled the sash away from the window. They were on a two lane dirt road. After awhile a carriage passed traveling in the opposite direction. She momentarily thought of hailing the oncoming vehicle, but it had gone before the thought had fully formed in her mind. She then contemplated leaping from the carriage and running into the surrounding forest but quickly discarded this notion. They were traveling at too great a speed, and she really did not know where to run. In addition, this man apparently had some means of seeing in the dark, and she did not.

She had, of course, been to Ash Town before. Indeed, since her father moved here seven years ago, she had visited him during her summer breaks from university.

She could tell they were traveling one of the widely used roads that connected several of the hamlets with the larger town. The train depot would be located somewhere up ahead. As this thought flitted through her mind, the lights of the depot came into view. The driver slowed the horses and passed the brightly lit sign, Ash Town Depot.

The carriage picked up the pace again as it entered the town. Neo-Victorian homes lined the streets, the homes soon giving way to shops and stores of all descriptions. They passed the courthouse and continued toward the other side of town. Her father’s home was at the edge of the town near the beginning of the Moreland, a vast, untouched natural landscape in the mountains that surrounded Ash Town. The carriage slowed, and Helena felt better; he was taking her to her father. She could see the lit, wrap-around porch where she had spent several evenings curled up with a good book, or sitting listening to Craigs tell stories.

The carriage stopped in front of the house. There was the billow of cloak, and the door was opened. Helena, after being handed out of the carriage, was left standing at the edge of the road. The cloaked figure quickly strode toward the white picket fence, opened the gate and bounded up the steps toward the stained glass paneled door.

Rapping loudly, the figure impatiently stood waiting. Helena walked to the gate and was about to go up the steps when the door was opened by her father. Fully dressed and holding his driving gloves, for he was to pick her up at the depot at that very moment, his blue eyes quickly took in everything. He saw the cloaked figure, a person he obviously recognized, glanced over the man’s shoulder to see his daughter, looked at the panting horses and back at the man.

Before he could speak, the cloaked figure said in a deep voice, Jim, I can’t explain now. Someone tried to take your daughter from the train. He paused. They used explosives.

Not skipping a beat, he continued, Wake the marshal and head to the tracks near the road that goes to Cane Creek. Take your medical kit; there may be injured. Is Craigs here?

Dr. Morgan nodded.

Leave her in his care. The figure motioned with his head toward Helena. Tell him to keep his revolver handy. I must go.

The cloak fluttered, and the man was off the porch, darting past Helena without a word. Dr. Morgan motioned her into the house, while calling in a loud, calm voice, Craigs?

As she stepped up the stairs and into the house, Helena paused and watched as the carriage wheeled around and sped back in the direction they had just traveled. As the carriage hurled down the street, it became a dark stain on the night and was gone.

Her father was leaving instructions with Craigs as he picked up his satchel and gently moved his daughter from the doorway. In a moment he was on his brown mare, going at a quick trot in the direction of the courthouse. She could see him clearly as he rode under the sign lit by incandescent lights that read: Ash Town, Appalachian Province, Founded 2356 AD.

Helena stepped into the house and the questioning look of Craigs.

Ten miles away, deep in an ancient forest, a very different house had stood for over four hundred and fifty years. It was a huge, imposing edifice, a reminder of a time long gone, yet it fit the current era seamlessly. It was considered a castle in times past, if castles had existed on the continent. The gargoyles, weathered and worn with age, still stared down on the inhabitants of the vast grounds with sightless eyes.

The first two world wars had not left a mark on The Moor, the modern name for the home. It had once held a better, more noble name, but the time of nobility had long passed.

The Great Collapse had taken its toll on The Moor, yet the home had managed better than most structures. Once the plagues began, the house had been abandoned. Then as the Great Collapse continued, and technology failed, nation rose against nation. Eventually, as civil wars eliminated most governments, the house was partially destroyed and then left forgotten. It was made of stone and was so large that it was not easily warmed in winters. Much of the furniture was left in place or stored in the lower regions of the building. But the reason it had been spared the total decimation of the Collapse was it stood in a vast forest that became a wilderness as the years passed. This, coupled with tales of mysterious happenings in the woods, led people to keep their distance from the lands surrounding The Moor.

During the Reconstruction Period, some one hundred years after the civil wars had ceased, people gravitated to small hamlets like Ash Town and stayed close. As Ash Town grew, people began a tentative exploration into the woods of the Moreland and found the great house. Even more remarkable to these explorers, The Moor was occupied, and many of the rooms were in good repair.

The people living there had come from the west and established a small community at the home. These folk were productive and retained much of the learning from before the Collapse: real books, maps, and other written things - learning that made them useful to the people of Ash Town.

So the people of The Moor had become a wealthy, prosperous addition to the growing town in the Appalachian Province.

This had been over one hundred years ago.

Tonight the heir of the estate drove his carriage into the carriage house to the right of the main house. Jumping down from the high seat, he handed the reins to a groomsman and walked across the cobblestones to the wide stairs leading to the side entrance. The passages were dark, but he walked with the assurance of a man long accustomed to the layout of the home. His cloak billowed out as he strode into the great banquet hall. He did not even glance at the tapestries and carvings adorning the wall. From here, he navigated through the entrance hall and down a long corridor with more tapestries. At the end of this hall a great door stood closed, with a small ray of light peeping out from under it.

The master of the house turned the brass knob and entered the dimly lit, two-story library with a balcony wrapping around the entire room. Bound books filled the shelves. Thompson, the butler, was dozing in the cushioned high-backed mahogany chair beside the small incandescent lamp sitting on an ornate table. He held a book in his lap. Upon the entrance of his employer, Thompson was on his feet, placing the book on the table, moving with a grace that belied his seventy plus years.

He stood waiting instructions. His employer moved to a writing desk, took a piece of parchment from a small stack, and picked up an ink pen. He began writing furiously.

Knowing better than to ask if he needed a light, Thompson came to stand beside the desk.

Sir, can I get you anything?

No, Tom, I’m fine.

Something to drink, sir?

His master continued to write, then glanced up at this man who had bounced him on his knee when he was a baby and gave a brief smile. Some tea would be nice.

Very good, sir. Thompson removed himself from the room and walked toward the downstairs kitchen.

Upon his return, Thompson found his master dripping wax to seal a letter. As he placed the metal seal into the cooling liquid, he turned to the butler and took the cup of tea from the tray.

Tom, see that this letter gets to the post at first light. It is very important.

Thompson set the tray down on a nearby stand and took the letter with a sigh.

Sir, what is it now? he said glancing at the address.

It is just some business.

Thompson placed the letter in his coat pocket and peered intently at his master, then dropping all formality, said, Really, William, you have enough trouble as it is. Why start digging up old ghosts?

William did not even blink at his butler’s direct approach; they had spent too much time in each other’s company for a reproof. Besides, William was not aristocracy, no matter how much the townsfolk and his own staff made him out to be.

He sipped the hot liquid and stared at the faint, deteriorating fresco on the ceiling. Letting out a slow sigh, he said, Tom, then hesitatingly, there was an attempted kidnapping tonight.

Miss Morgan?

William nodded, A few miles from Ash Town…, they used explosives.

Thompson’s look was sober, You said attempted….

All the information I could gather led me to believe they might try something. If I were going to stop the train, I would choose the grade just before the 40 gets into town.

William drank down more of the steaming tea. Anyway, I was about a mile away when the explosions began, and, after that, it was just a matter of getting Miss Morgan off the train as quietly as possible and back to the carriage.

So she is with her father now?

Yes…. Well, actually with Craigs.

Thompson nodded with satisfaction.

William continued, I sent her father to see if anyone was harmed and to get the marshal.

Well, it seems you have had a bit of excitement this evening. But why…? At this, Thompson patted his coat pocket.

Because they need to know. William finished off the tea and set the cup on the writing desk. We’ve spent so many years hiding, and I’m afraid my meddling is going to expose us all.

He moved to the window, looking out into the darkness.

Sir, Thompson stepped beside him. Is it meddling for a sick man to attempt to find a cure? He paused, They will understand.

Perhaps.

William brought his hand up to massage his temples, a gesture Thompson knew well. Thompson opened a nearby cabinet and brought out a small candle holder and matches. He lit the candle, and cut off the incandescent light. The room fell into darkness except for the candle’s soft glow.

He handed the candle to his employer and stepped toward the door. Sir, get some sleep.

William shielded his eyes from the candle light with a gloved hand and watched Thompson softly close the library door. His eyes looked like huge black orbs set under his knit brow. There was so much to do and so much that could go wrong.

A door beside the huge stone fireplace, cold for the summer, allowed entry into a long corridor that led to the main staircase. William followed this passage and descended the broad, iron-railed stairway into the lower parts of the house.

He held the candle level, but away to his side, keeping his face in shadow. He moved with purpose in the almost total darkness.

He was now in the lowest part of the house, passing large rooms with various mechanical exercise equipment, tack for horse riding, even what had been a swimming pool that had long since ceased to hold water.

Coming to what looked to be a storeroom, William quickly opened the oak door and entered. The room was small by comparison to the rooms upstairs - small even for servant’s quarters. It had been a storage closet with no windows, not even in the door. It resembled a crypt. William quickly undressed and climbed into the modest four poster bed, pulling a sheet over himself as he blew out the candle. The darkness enveloped him and he sighed with relief.

Lying in the blackness, knowing he needed rest, William began to plan out his next move. It would be daylight soon, and, though he dreaded it, he knew he would have to spend most of the day in the sunlight, among people. As he turned over and tried to calm his mind for sleep, he spoke softly, God, please let it rain all day tomorrow.

Outside the crescent moon hung low in the cloudless summer sky.

Chapter Two

The next day, Helena slept until the brass clock, gears slowly whirring, on her nightstand chimed noon. She had watched the sun rise as she sipped tea and discussed the events of the night with Craigs and then again with her father.

He had ascertained that no one had been injured, and by all accounts it looked like a train robbery. After the men had found Helena’s compartment empty, they quickly went through the other cars and took a few items, apparently wanting it to look like a heist.

Except that it was m-meant to be a kidnapping, and I w-was the kid, Helena said between sips, her voice quavering only slightly. Daddy, what is the meaning of this?

James Tobiah Morgan looked quietly out the window at the sun peeking over the Blueridge Mountains, then glanced back at his daughter.