Steam City Shadows

By Charles Eugene Anderson

In the gritty, divided city of New Aurora, Ula Ikem leads a rebel faction seeking justice against the tyrannical upper-class Steamers who rule with an iron fist. When Ula uncovers a vast conspiracy around hoarded resources, she infiltrates facilities, gathers forbidden intel, and builds an unlikely crew of informants to help expose the government's lies.
Facing off against ruthless leaders like Tribune Jamuike, who wield experimental weapons and limitless authority, Ula resorts to bold heists and rallies public dissent through daring broadcasts. But machinations run deeper than she realized, and the risks for her and her allies soar ever higher in this kinetic fantasy of rebellion versus oppression.
With New Aurora itself at a tipping point, Ula confronts the limits of loyalty and sacrifice central to her crusade. Unimaginable loss haunts her attempts to spark revolution while balancing diplomacy and driving out corruption. If she fails, generations will continue languishing under the Steam Council's dominant rule. But exposing the shocking truth could cost Ula everything—or help transform their society forever through cooperation across bitter divides.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mad Cow Press
• Release date: Feb 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224565269

Charles Eugene Anderson

Charles Eugene Anderson lives in Colorado. Chuck is a former teacher. He now spends his time writing, hanging out with his pup, Champ, and learning how to bake. More about Chuck at http://charleseugeneanderson.com

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The cobbled streets of New Aurora thrummed with life, a cacophony of gears and steam mingling with human bustle. Ula Ikem threaded through the crowd, her dark hair a stark contrast against the swirling mists that clung to the city like a second skin. Her green eyes darted from shadow to light, vigilant for the lurking dangers only she seemed to anticipate.

Ula, a voice hissed from an alleyway.

She pivoted on her heel, a hand reaching instinctively for the hidden blade beneath her cloak. Recognition flashed in her eyes as she relaxed a fraction.

Joss.

Trouble's brewing, he murmured, barely audible over the din of the market. His eyes flickered with unrest, mirroring the tension that clung to the air.

Steamers? Ula's reply was terse; her gaze never ceased moving.

Who else? They tighten the noose daily. He spat into the grime, a look of disgust fleeting across his features. We're suffocating, Ula.

Keep your voice down. Her warning was sharp but not unkind. She offered a curt nod, understanding etched deep within her. Stay alert.

Always am, Joss said, slipping back into the shadow from whence he came.

Ula continued, her stride confident yet discreet. She passed others like herself, Commons, each exchanging a silent dance of camaraderie and shared frustration—a nod to the fruit seller, whose hands bore the calluses of toil and hardship. A brief clasp of the shoulder to the young mechanic, his face smeared with soot and despair.

Ula, the mechanic whispered his words a veil for deeper currents. They're at it again.

Where? Her inquiry was a flicker, quick and dangerous.

East checkpoint. Turning us away like dogs. His voice was a low growl, a simmering pot threatening to boil over.

Watch yourself, she advised, her tone layered with a resolve honed by years of struggle.

Always do.

Ula’s path became more persistent with each interaction, her purpose clearer. New Aurora might be a city divided, but in the quiet exchanges and knowing looks, Ula saw the spark of unity amongst her people, a flame that no amount of Steamers' oppression could snuff out.

Ula's eyes narrowed. She spotted him— the Steamer official. His coat was a tapestry of cogs and brass buttons, reflecting the sun with every pompous step he took. The clang of mechanical boots on cobblestone echoed off the buildings, announcing his approach long before he came into view. Armed guards flanked him, their rifles glinting, gears whirring with lethal precision.

Out of the way! barked one guard, shoving a street vendor back into the crowd. The official never glanced sideways; his chin lifted in disdainful triumph.

Arrogance, Ula muttered under her breath. Her fingers itched, but she forced them still at her sides. No rash moves. Not here. Not now.

Did you hear? A voice whispered from behind a stack of crates. They tightened the noose again.

Another restriction? replied another hushed tone, tinged with anger.

Steamers' goods flood in; ours trickle out. It's starvation by decree.

Shh, walls have ears.

Let 'em hear! They can't take our voice!

Careful, Renn. That'll be next.

Ula sidled closer, feigning interest in a basket of tarnished cogs and widgets. The snippets of conversation were like daggers, each word stabbing at the heart of her community's spirit. She moved on, the weight of her people's plight growing heavier with every step.

Ula brushed past a cluster of chattering Commons and stepped into the cooler shade of an awning. The merchant behind the counter was a Steamer, his vest embroidered with intricate patterns of silver thread; his sleeves rolled up to reveal metallic tattoos that glinted like the workings of a clock. Ula approached, her gaze level.

Show me your Iridium coils, she said, her voice steady.

The merchant looked her over, from plain boots to unadorned hair. His lip curled slightly. Not for you, Common. Your kind wouldn't know what to do with high-grade tech.

Ula's jaw tightened, but she kept her anger leashed. I have coin.

Coin? He scoffed. Commons' coin is as crude as their manners. Off with you.

She turned, biting back a sharp retort. Anger wouldn't serve her; information would. She observed the merchant lift a panel from the corner of her eye, revealing a glimmering array of Iridium-laced gadgets. Her heart quickened. That metal powered New Aurora, and the Steamers hoarded it like dragons with gold.

Advanced tech for advanced people, the merchant boasted to a well-dressed Steamer who had sauntered beside Ula. See how it gleams? Purest Iridium from the northern mines. Unattainable to some, indispensable to us.

Indeed, the customer murmured, handing over a wad of banknotes without a second glance.

Ula stored every detail in the vault of her mind—prices, buyers, the location of the panel. She moved away before her presence attracted more scorn, but her resolve solidified with each step. They could dismiss her words, overlook her, but they couldn't douse the fire that burned within her—a fire that spelled change.

Ula's steps faltered as she neared the trade checkpoint, the scene before her a blatant display of the inequities that plagued New Aurora. A line of Commons stood, shoulders hunched, hands fumbling with the scarce items they hoped to barter. The guards, clad in brass and leather, scrutinized each offering with derision.

Next! barked a guard, his mechanical arm whirring with every gesture.

A woman stepped forward, her basket filled with fresh produce—a rare sight in these parts. Ula watched the exchange, her fists clenching at her sides.

Denied, the guard said flatly, not even glancing at the woman.

But my children— the woman began.

Move along! The guard cut her off, shoving the basket back into her arms.

The Steamers' queue moved like clockwork. Papers stamped, goods passed through—no questions asked. Their laughter drifted over; it stung like acid.

Damn shame, muttered a grizzled Common beside Ula, his eyes dark pits of resignation.

Every day, the same. Ula's reply was terse, her voice tight with barely contained fury.

Nothing changes for us, the man said, shaking his head.

Nothing yet, Ula countered, her gaze still locked on the checkpoint.

Hope is a luxury, girl.

Then call me indulgent.

Their conversation fell away as another Common approached the checkpoint—a young man with soot-streaked cheeks and a bundle of salvaged metal parts. His hopeful smile faltered under the guard's sneer.

Scrap won't feed the furnaces, the guard jeered. Next!

The young man stepped aside, his shoulders bowing under an invisible weight. As he turned, his gaze met Ula's—two green fires in a sea of despair.

The moment held: silent, electric. No words passed between them, yet understanding flowed—an unspoken pact against the suffocating injustice.

Hey, Ula whispered, stepping closer. We'll find a way.

Will we? he murmured back, skepticism threaded through his tone.

Watch us.

With a final nod, they parted, melting back into the bustling crowd. But the shared look lingered, a spark amidst the gloom that neither the Commons nor the Steamers could quench.

Ula skirted a cluster of street vendors; their stalls cobbled together from scavenged wood and metal. She haggled briefly for a handful of tarnished screws, her currency a few frayed wires gleaned from yesterday's refuse.

Trade ya, she said, voice steady.

Stiff price for scraps, the vendor grumbled, eyeing the wires.

Best you'll get today, Ula shot back.

A nod sealed the deal.

She moved on, steps quick and light. The screws would mend a neighbor's leaky boiler—a temporary fix, but it'd hold. In New Aurora, that was enough.

Ula! A voice called out behind her.

She spun, eyes narrowing, and faced Jiro, another Common with dirt under his nails and worry lines etched deep. They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching Steamers breeze past.

Word is they're tightening the noose, he said, low and urgent. More restrictions.

Figures, Ula replied, pocketing her new barter. They squeeze, we scramble.

Can't keep going like this, Jiro muttered.

Then we won't. Ula's tone was flat, final.

Got plans? Skepticism tinged his question.

Maybe. Ula's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. Keep your ears open, Jiro.

Always do, Ula. Always do.

Their exchange was brief, but it was enough. With a shared nod, they parted, each slipping back into the rhythm of survival.

The library loomed, a relic amidst steam and iron. Ula pushed open the heavy door, her gaze flinty with purpose.

Back again, Miss Ikem? The librarian's eyebrows arched.

Need to read up. Ula kept it curt.

History or mechanics?

Both. She didn't elaborate. The less people knew, the better.

Aisle by aisle, Ula's fingers danced over spines. Books thudded onto the table, dust motes swirling in protest. Pages flipped rapidly as she scoured for accounts of the border disputes, trade agreements gone sour, any mention of Iridium.

Damn it, she whispered. Facts were sparse, buried deep under propaganda.

Trouble? The librarian hovered, feigning casual.

Fine, Ula snapped, eyes not leaving the text.

Take your time, he retreated, hands raised.

Hours bled away. Witnesses came next. She'd memorized their faces, their habits—the tired lines around their eyes. They'd seen the clash, heard the cries, and smelled the acrid smoke.

Talk to me, Ula urged, cornering a wiry man who'd been there that day.

Can't, he stammered. They'll...

Who? Ula pressed, fierce. Steamers?

Please... Fear oozed from him.

Your friends are dead, she reminded with ice in her veins. Mine too.

Alright, alright! He relented. Words tumbled out—shouts, gunshots, the metallic taste of blood.

More, Ula insisted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wasn't right, he admitted. Something off about the whole thing.

Like?

Orders. Came from high up. Too organized.

Thank you, Ula breathed, a storm brewing behind those green eyes. A puzzle piece clicked into place.

Be careful, Ula, he warned before melting into the shadows.

Always am, she muttered, alone again. Determination coiled within her like a spring. She'd find the truth, for justice, for her fallen comrades. No matter what.

Ula's boots clacked against the cobblestone alley as she pursued the echo of voices. Shadows danced under the flickering gas lamps, her heart pounding a rhythm with each step. She edged closer, a whispered conversation unfolding from behind a rusted door.

…shouldn't have happened, a gruff voice said, tinged with worry.

Quiet! hissed another, sharper, Walls have ears.

Ula pressed her ear to the cool metal, eyes narrowed, breath held.

Documents were clear, the first continued, This goes beyond trade disputes…

Shut it! The plan is bigger than you or I. If you value your life…

Plans? Ula mouthed silently, a chill skittering down her spine. What plans?

Leave it be, the second snapped. The conversation ended with the scuff of boots and a heavy silence.

Damn, Ula cursed under her breath. She needed more. As she turned, a paper slipped from beneath the door, drifting lazily to her feet. A schematic—complex, detailed, with annotations in a coded script. Her fingers traced the lines; this was no ordinary trade document.

Hey! A shout cut through the night. What are you doing?

Nothing, Ula shot back, pocketing the paper, her pulse quickening. She darted away, the