Steampunk

By Brennan Barrett

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Brennan Barrett

ISBN (Electronic Print) 978-0-9918332-6-9

This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this book are completely fictional, except Alice the sexy ghoul.

Any resemblance to persons living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional. If you are the type of person that needs to be told these things, I would find you very interesting and entertaining.

This eBook is liscensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be sold or given to other people without purchase or permission by the author or publisher. If you would like to share this book with someone, please visit the publisher and purchase additional copies. If you are reading this book and have not received it as a gift or purchased it from a licensed reseller, please visit a reseller that offers this book and purchase a legal copy. Thank you for respecting my hard work as a writer.

Author’s note:

My readers have probably grown used to the comically gritty style of my books and I will continue to write for those readers that have supported me since the beginning. Sadly, my old Mac computer and the iPad that I write and format all of my books on are becoming worn and dated. They need to be updated and I had to ask myself, is there anything I would like to write that would be considered more main stream? In an effort to avoid the starving artist cliché, I had to do some hard thinking.

To date, I just can’t get into writing Romance and the only other genre that appeals to me is Science Fiction, but what flavour? (Notice the Canadian spelling there?) To make a long story short, I stumbled upon the answer when I asked myself, Why is Steampunk called Steampunk? I figured out the answer to that question but I wondered if I could come up with a fictional class of people called Steampunks from a Steampunk world filled with polished brass and wonders. My mind took off from there and this is the result.

Dedication:

I dedicate this book to my readers, especially each and every one of you that took the time to write me, share me with friends or track me down on FaceBook. Without you, the dream dies. I truly wish that I could thank each and every single one of you in person for taking the time to read my work.

Please excuse the lack of vulgar language, but the story didn’t call for it.

Cover Art by Brennan Barrett ©2015

Steampunk gun by Brennan Barrett

Model: Cindy Van Beek

Table of Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue

About the Author

Thanks

Other books by Brennan Barrett

Contact

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Prologue

Every media screen in the country was ablaze with news of the California and New York reactors going critical. Millions were already reported dead, and clouds of radioactive precipitation were spreading the havoc like an apocalypse. Christine Gunderson sat on her living room sofa with the remote in her hand, staring at the carnage in shock. Where was Liam? If ever there was a time to head for the shelter that they had been paying into for the last fifteen years, it was now. Would the radiation spread this far?

God, Liam, where are you? Christine whispered as she held back tears. Suddenly the phone rang, and Christine pressed a button on the remote to answer the call over her media screen.

Christine! Liam said in a rush the moment his image appeared on the screen.

Oh, Liam, Christine cried. "Have you seen the news? The New York reactor just went up! Two reactors at the same time! How is this possible?

Christine, you've got to listen to me, Liam Gunderson said past the lump in his throat that was threatening to choke him.

Liam, I wish you were here, Christine continued in a panic. I don't want to be here alone. I packed our bags just in case you wanted to leave for the shelter if this gets worse. They had both believed that there would be a need for the shelter someday. It had seemed like a fad when they first joined the co-op, but as overpopulation, environmental crises, crime and civil unrest steadily increased over the last fifteen years, they realized that maybe it was a fad worth continuing. Christine, please shut up and listen, Liam pleaded, his voice choking with tears.

Liam, what's wrong? Christine asked, finally noticing her husband's emotional state.

You have to take your bags and the trunk we prepared, Liam stressed clearly. Take them and head to the shelter.

But honey, Christine said, beginning to panic. I haven't been there since we took the tour of the completed facility three years ago. I'm not sure I remember how to get there.

Christine, honey, there's a plastic card in the glove compartment. Use it. Find your way, Liam said, ending his sentence in a heartbreaking sob.

No, Liam. Come home, Christine pleaded. I'll wait for you, and we'll go together. She had been waiting for Liam to come home from the new site down south for three weeks, and now she had to wait even longer? This was too much.

Honey, Liam said as he brushed the tears away angrily. The frustration of seeing his wife and knowing he'd never hold her again was almost too much for him to bear. Honey, the Oregon reactor just went critical. Don't wait for me; just go. Christine, I love you. I love you so much honey.

How? Liam! How? Three reactors in one day. It's just not possible.

It's got to be sabotage, honey, Liam said through the tears that were streaming down his face now. Baby, you have to go. You have to live.

Liam, please, Christine begged, her nose running as she began to cry. "Don't do this to me. We have to go together. You can't leave me alone - I'm pregnant.

Oh god, Liam said before he broke down. Run, honey! Get the luggage and run to the car. Don't look back! I love you. I... The screen went black and Liam was gone.

Christine let out a wail of agony and stumbled to the hallway closet. The big trunk was on wheels, and while heavy, it was manageable because of the handles that folded out. Once she got it to the pavement outside the front door, the handles would react with the lining in the cement and provide extra lift. The wonderful maglev technology had only been around for a few years, but it had become such a blessing. How many wonderful things like it would be lost now?

No, no, no, Christine moaned as she opened the back hatch of the car and slid the trunk in. The vehicle noted the cargo being loaded and lowered the back seats to make room. Christine continued to cry as she ran back into the house and grabbed the luggage she had packed for herself and Liam. One bag for personal items was all they were allowed. Christine had taken her books on herbal medicine, and the seeds she would one day grow in the underground habitat for her special herbs. Sustainable medicine was her specialty. She also took her surgical bag. It wasn't counted as a personal item as it was useful to all inhabitants of the shelter. Most surgeons were quite attached to their own instruments, and she was no exception.

I'll see you there, Liam; I know I will, Christine said as she pulled away. She hadn't even bothered closing the front door. I love you too, honey, Christine said as she looked at the picture of Liam she kept tucked in beside the sun visor.

The rural street opened up onto a highway within a few minutes, and Christine opened the glove compartment and reached in, feeling around for the large plastic card. Her fingers seized upon the hard plastic. Just then her vehicle began pulling over to the shoulder of the road of its own accord. Obviously, a disaster alert had been issued, and cars were automatically making way for emergency traffic. They would continue to move forward, but only in single file along the shoulder of the highway to allow one lane in each direction for emergency traffic.

Christine had prepared for this event at Liam's urging and pressed the medical override button on the dash. The lifters under the car began to fire, and the car rose into the air, picking up forward momentum as it rose. The location of the shelter had been programmed into the onboard navigation as a medical staging area in the event of a disaster. Christine's identification as a doctor gave her clearance to fly even during disaster situations. At least now she wouldn't have to find her own way. Flying terrified her but not as much as the thought of being locked outside the shelter with a baby on the way. She knew it was foolish to believe that Liam would meet her there. She was a doctor; she knew how much radiation he would have received within just moments of the Oregon reactor going critical. Poor Liam had been supervising the assembly of the cooling system for the new Oregon back-up reactor. He was likely dead already, and her baby would never know its father.

I love you Liam. I miss you already, Christine cried as her car topped six hundred kilometres per hour, flying her rapidly toward her destination. Once there, Christine would say goodbye to Liam and the sky one last time. Then she would crawl deep into the earth and try to eke out an existence until she died.

Chapter 1

Lala dodged piles of garbage and the pickers working them as she sped down the alley on her steamcycle. Arty's goons were hot on her tail, but they couldn't ride for shit. Their cycles were built for intimidation, not speed. Any Steampunk worth their spit had a cycle built for speed. Speed was where it was at if you had to run jobs to make a living. Your cycle had to be fast, and you made sure it stayed that way with constant tinkering and trips to the mod shop where you could get the newest vacuum tubes, purified water for your steam works, or get your brass work done.

Lala sucked in a breath as she barely avoided a wheelbarrow that a picker was loading with scrap. She was already laughing with her head thrown back as the closest goon slammed into the picker's barrow and flew over the front end of his cycle. The picker was screaming, either at the mess or from a steam burn from the goon's cycle's ruptured steam works. It would have been nice to look back to know for sure. But doing something stupid like that, she'd run the risk of wrecking her own steamcycle and being late for her drop off. To be honest, Lala would rather not see the mess that had recently been a beautiful cruiser. She had put a hole in her own steam works once, sliding sideways under a snob cart to shake a tail that was trying to jack her carry. She'd lost the bastard and made her drop, but after repairs she was left with barely enough for a good meal and a few drinks at the Fat Rat.

A good Steampunk took care of their cycle, but the carry came first. If you got jacked by one of Arty's goons or some freelancer while on a run, your cred went down and so did your asking price - or you just didn't get another run, and you went hungry. For Lala, it was a no-brainer: if you had to choose between your cycle and your carry, you chose the carry and bloody well made it to the drop.

Rude Ricky had warned her that Arty's goons would be watching the Hole for Punks leaving on runs tonight. The Hole had originally been called The Watering Hole, but it was nowhere near as good as the Fat Rat, so folks just called it The Hole. The Guild changed their pickup location every day to try and stay ahead of the local crime boss and his goons. Today, they were using The Hole. Some days, pickups were done right at the Courier Guild office. Word of where the day's drop was going to be, got passed to the Punks through the tried and true Steampunk grapevine, which consisted of mouth to ear or hand signals as they passed each other. Arty, the local crime boss, had deep pockets and lots of eyes and ears. He usually caught wind of the pickup spot in time to try and jack at least one carry from a Punk on a run, but he wasn't always lucky. Rude Ricky had lost his cycle and his carry to one of Arty's gangs last month and was working as a sniffer for other Punks to pay for a new cycle. Lala threw him some coin every time his info paid off, and tonight she would definitely pay him again. The Punks were good to each other that way. It was pretty tough competition at the best of times, but if one Punk caught a tough break, every Punk they knew would help out a bit, and they would be riding again before too long.

Thanks Normie! Lala yelled happily as she shot past Normie the Cooper. Normie always had a few barrels to roll out into the alley behind his shop when he heard her coming. More often than not, she was being chased. Lala laughed again as she heard wood splintering and Normie arguing with a goon about who was going to pay for his broken barrels. Normie would get paid: he was one of the biggest men she had ever met. You paid your tab with Normie or you might end up in one of his barrels.

Normie would be at the Fat Rat tonight, expecting a meal and a drink, and most likely a story. He still loved to hear about her latest runs every bit as much as he did the first night they had shared a drink and her stories had captivated him. That had been the night she had punched a hole in her brass and hadn't noticed until after the drop. Thank god the pluck had left with the package before she had gotten back on her cycle. It was just about the most embarrassing thing ever to have to push your cycle back home, or to Tinker Dan's shop.

Normie had just been closing up shop when Lala trudged past pushing her cycle. She had seen him around before and remembered him as a kid when he had been one of Gran's patients. But full grown - honestly, human beings weren't ever supposed to be made that big, and he scared her shitless.

Need a hand with that steamcycle, little lady? Normie had asked. Lala had laughed in surprise. No one had ever called her a lady before. Normie looked down like a scolded puppy, thinking she had disdained him.

Only if you let this little lady buy you a steak and a beer after, Lala had replied with a grin. Normie's smile had been so contagious that soon the pair were sharing stories at The Rat over beers and rubbing tummies that were properly stuffed with steak and potato. Normie hadn't done at all badly that night. He had been rolling a defective barrel out to the back where it could be abandoned for the pickers. Sometimes a barrel just refused to come together properly, and no amount of tinkering and adjusting would make the damn thing hold water. Lala had shot past him with a wave, and her tail had run smack dab into Normie's barrel. Normie had insisted on pay from the goon for the barrel and got it. Then he got himself a steak dinner and some fine company t' boot that night.

She knew pushing her steamcycle back to The Rat where she had hoped to find Tinker Dan eating his supper would have been a bitch without Normie's help. A Punk's cycle was light and manoeuvrable compared to a normal cycle like the Wardens and Sheriffs rode, but that didn't mean that the eight feet of black wrought iron and brass steam-works wasn't heavy as hell for her to push. It wasn't just the wrought iron frame and brass piping that was heavy: each one of the thick brass covers that protected the vacuum tubes and the crystals for the electrics had a good weight to it, and her cycle had sixteen of those. That was twice what a normal steamcycle had to protect its electrics, and four more than any other Punk's cycle that she knew. They were necessary weight though. If you tipped over or bumped something and cracked a tube or shattered a crystal, there was no power to the steam-works to boil the water. Of course, if you had to slide under a snob-cart to lose a tail and wore a hole through your brass - well, that resulted in no pressure in the steam-works either, and that was just as bad.

Lala was almost clear of the alley now, and there was only one of Arty's goons left riding a working cycle to chase her. There was a sharp left at the end of the alley that would open onto a straight stretch. If you turned right, you were on the wooden docks, and if you went straight, you were in the bay. There was a long wooden bumper beam along the edge of the cobblestone alley where it met the street to her left, but no rails.

Once in a while a big cargo steamer would dock there to unload building supplies or large prefabricated parts for one of the airships being built at the shipyards, but not often enough to justify putting up rails. A snob cart rolled over the side once, and the snob couple in their fine clothes went into the bay and almost drowned before they could be fished out. Normie had been the one to dive in and save the woman.

Normie had told her the story over a steak and beer the first night they had met. He said that he had just jumped in and scooped her up onto his shoulder, then climbed the ladder struts up the east piling with the one hand that was free. Normie was modest. The woman's gown and petticoats had held so much water that the dock workers weren't strong enough to haul her out with a rope. Men went to work installing the wooden bumper the next day though. Twenty Punks probably went into that bay the same way - but two snobs go for a swim and suddenly shit gets done.

It was time for the last turn and time to see how good Arty's last goon was on his cycle. That wooden bumper was just thick enough for her tires to grip if she leaned on the skid-plate she'd had installed after the time the cobblestones wore a hole in her brass. Pulling the second throttle lever down, Lala opened up the steam and shot ahead of the goon chasing her. She could hear him swearing as she pulled away. Now the timing had to be perfect. Break, throttle down, controlled skid almost to the bumper beam, and then full steam on both throttles to straighten back up and pull away. Her tires hit the bumper just as full steam kicked in.

For a moment Lala was lit perfectly by the lights from the crystal retrofitted gas-lamps that lined the docks. In that moment, Arty's goon thought he had her and poured on the steam to hit her broadside with the big crash bar that protected his front tire. The new seat that Tinker Dan had made for her cycle helped her grip the body of her mechanical beast like she was glued to it. She had balked at first when he had said that she would have to put a separate cover over the light tan colored leather when she wasn't riding to protect it from the rain and dust. In the moment that Lala's tires caught the beam and she poured on the steam without slipping from her seat, the hassle of covering the expensive seat was worth all the trouble.

Lala watched on the fold-out mirror attached to her wrist the graceful flight of the goon as he sailed out over the bumper and into the bay. A continuous stream of profanity gushed from the goon's mouth as he rode his cycle through the air and down into the water. Lala tilted her head back and laughed again. Little moments like this were why she could never be anything other than a Steampunk. Life was good.

A group of noobs on their first steamcycles waved to Lala and cheered as she shot by. She knew that the responsible thing to do when the wannabe Punks cornered her at The Fat Rat and started talking her ear off about how daring and glamorous the life of a courier must be, was to tell them it was a hard life. That never happened. It must have been at least nine generations since humanity crawled back out of the ground, and they were just finally getting technology back on its feet. A generation back, steamcycles hardly went faster than a kid could run. A generation before that, they burned coal or gas! Going to work on the days she wanted to, and riding a steamcycle that could lap a racehog five to one was about as wonderful as wonderful could get. Punks hardly ever got shot anymore. The last time a freelancer had gotten it into his mind to shoot a Punk in the back as he rode by, just to jack his carry, the whole Guild went on strike. Three days later, after a lot of heat from the snobs, the Wardens and Sheriffs tracked the bastard down and hung him in the town circle.

Snobs carried a lot of weight; not just fat, but influence as well. They were leftovers from the folks in charge of the shelters where humanity had sought refuge when the world got sick. Sick was probably the best word for it. The stuff folks used to do to get power for their carts and cycles and such was pretty bad for the world. They weren't smart in those days.

The old folks said that their old folks told stories about people burning wood. They were also burning the stuff that came out of the ground that Lala's cycle was lubed with. When it came down to it, those fools would burn just about anything. The people who crawled into the belly of the world to survive the bad times - they were smart. They learned how to work with steam and how to get electrics from crystals and vacuum tubes. They had to burn coal when they first came back to the surface, but only long enough to find a big supply of crystal they could mine.

Folks were still scared to do anything that might make the world sick again. When Lala was young, she used to lay awake at night because she had to pee. Her gran would ask, Dear, why aren't you sleeping?

And Lala would say, I gotta pee, Gran. I'm a scared that maybe my pee might make the world sick again. What if the boy who takes the chamber pots doesn't dump them right? Lala's parents had died when she was young, and all she had then was Gran.

You have your pee, child. We'll save it, and tomorrow I'll teach you something, was all her Gran said that night. The next morning, Lala awoke to find Gran at her work table in the apothecary. She had a big glass jar over a crystal burner where she was cooking the liquid away.

Sit down Lala, I want to teach you something, Gran said as she pulled a stool out for Lala. Lala sat down and watched her Gran stir the liquid with a glass rod.

Is that my pee from last night? Lala asked.

Sure enough, Gran said as she stirred.

Is that what happens to the pee when the boy picks up our chamber pots? Lala asked.

Sure enough, Gran replied. They cook a much bigger batch at the wharf though.

Better to do it there, Lala agreed. The concoction smelled bad.

This thick muddy bit at the bottom is called phosphorus, Gran said as she caught a bit on the glass rod. Lifting the rod out of the jar, Gran rolled the rod to keep the muck on the end of the rod while it dried. Suddenly it caught fire and Lala yelped.

That's what phosphorus does, child, Gran had said with a laugh. They coat the inside of the bulbs along the street with a mixture of this, crystal dust, and glass powder. That's why the bulbs glow. Gran put the glass rod into another jar full of water. The jar sat in the shadow created by the angle of the morning sun coming through the bay window on Gran's left side. It continued to glow underwater, and that was pretty cool. Lala swore that fire went out under water, but here it was still glowing under almost half a foot of water and longer than Lala could hold her breath.

Lala remembered that lesson as she rode past Gus, the man that went from lamppost to lamppost with his big brass key and his crank. It was his job to unlock the box on each post, slide the crank into its gear nest, and crank until the electrics caught. Once the crystals caught enough of a charge to go on their own, the lamps would burn all night. Lala always found the lamps enchanting. It wasn't until she spoke with Gus one day while he was doing maintenance on a lamp that she learned that all the lamps used to burn gas. Lala had asked what gas was, and Gus told her that it was the vapor that came off the oil buried deep in the ground. Half the time, Lala suspected that even Gus didn't know for sure. The lamps were proof that folks these days were still worried about making the world sick again, and that much was good enough for Lala.

Cutting the throttle and skidding to a stop in front of the snob cart she had come to meet, Lala pulled the satchel off her back and turned it so the man at the cart could see that the seal string was still knotted and covered with wax. Nodding, the man took it and cut the string. Reaching down to pick up the leather sack at his feet, the drop-man - or 'pluck' - opened it and showed Lala the cash inside. It was a big haul; she knew it would be. Punks had to pay the contract fee up front when they accepted a job. If they got jacked on the run, nobody lost but the Steampunk who was unlucky or unskilled enough to get jacked. Lala had paid huge coin for this contract and knew very well what the payout would be. Everyone thought she took the biggest risks, but she didn't really. She paid for good intel from jacked Punks like Rude Ricky, and protection wasn't a problem when you carried a crystal gun the size of Lala's. Then there was Normie and his barrels, the pickers and their carts, and Mona and her flower cart, which she had used a few times. Lala planned, so Lala prospered. It was that simple.

Let's hustle this up, Lala said as she held the sack the pluck had handed her. I figure you got two or three snobs tucked away in that cart who need this medicine right now, so let's not turn this into a ceremony.

You aren't supposed to know what you are transporting, the pluck grumbled. He was right. The delivery envelope that came with every drop was wax sealed by the shipper. Inside were delivery instructions which were usually just a location, but now and then there would be actual instructions about the time for the drop, or how fragile it might be. No one but the Punk who opened that envelope knew where the carry was going. That, and speed, were the best protection a Punk could have. The envelope never described the contents, not ever.

I didn't, Lala said, I suspected, and you just confirmed. Not that I care. I figure folks got a right to their privacy, and if they go and catch the Fungus, they're going to need expensive medicine soon as possible. The Fungus was new. It first showed up a year ago on some folks who made their living digging for old world tech and salvage. Well, maybe longer than that, but you could say it had been very rare until a year ago. Some folks suspected it was some kind of sickness from before, when the world got sick, while others suspected it was a sickness that got sick along with the world and had been changed. Either way, Lala stayed away from salvage hunters and diggers just the same. You ain't touched 'em have you? Lala asked as she realized that she was holding a bag that the man had touched with bare hands.

No, I haven't, He replied as he took three syringes and three bottles of pills from Lala's carry bag and walked over to the snob-cart. Pulling on a handle that looked like a towel rack, the man opened a tip drawer and placed the medicine inside. He slowly and carefully closed the tip drawer so that the people inside the covered snob-cart could get to their medicine right away.

Good, said Lala, Then you can hold my carry bag open while I dump this in. The drop-man nodded and cooperated with quick efficiency.

I trust you can keep the nature of this business to yourself? The drop-man said as Lala closed her bag and pulled it back onto her shoulders.

Like I said, Lala replied with a confident grin, I figure folks got a right to their privacy, and I got a rep to protect. The man nodded at Lala with a relieved expression and tipped his hat to her.

I'll be seeing you, Punk, the drop-man said good-naturedly as he climbed onto the open air driver's seat of the snob-cart.

Be seein' ya, Lala replied as she rotated the crank handle out of the top of her cycle's water tank and gave it a couple quick cranks before folding it back into its resting place. Lala and the drop-man pulled away in different directions after the amiable transaction. It was time to pick Normie up and deposit her money with Frank at The Rat. Most Punks used Frank as their middle-man. He already had armored transport for depositing his daily take at the bank, and he didn't gouge you on the rate. Normie had earned a steak dinner again, and to be honest, it was just as dangerous coming back with pay as it was going out with a carry; she would be glad for Normie's escort to The Rat. One thought kept nagging at Lala on the way back to Normie's: why would snobs have the Fungus? Usually only salvage hunters and diggers got the Fungus. Sometimes they died from it. She was tempted to burn her bag and gloves when she got home and shivered as she thought about contracting the Fungus.

Whatever. Three doses of medicine for the Fungus was expensive but not as expensive as the snobs had paid for privacy, that's for sure. Oh well, best to put it out of her mind. Gran always said that if you worry about something too much, you draw it to you. If she drew the Fungus to her - ugh! Forget about ever laying with a man; not a one would have her after she'd had the Fungus. She shivered again just as she pulled up to Normie's front door. He was standing there with the big shop key in his hand.

I was just locking up, Normie said, You made good time.

It was a quick run, Lala said as she kicked the stand for her cycle out and got off.

What's got you out of sorts? Normie asked as he looked down at Lala and rested his hands on his hips. Lala could never hide anything from Normie. He was a good man; only five years older than her, and she had often thought he would make her a good husband. He was just so big! She'd never been with a man before, though plenty thought she had. Normie was the only man that she liked enough to lay with, but his size scared her.

The run tonight was medicine for a few snobs that caught the Fungus, Lala said as she shivered again.

You didn't touch none of 'em, did ya? Normie said as he wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders.

No, but you should have waited for me to answer before you touched me, Lala admonished as she fought against a smile.

Wouldn't make no difference to me, Normie said proudly.

I don't suppose you could fog my bag and gloves for me before we leave? Lala asked. Normie had a special tank where he fogged barrels that people had left unused for too long. The fog tank killed anything that had gotten into the wood, and the chemicals dissipated very quickly when not under pressure. She wasn't sure what the fog was made of, but it smelled tangy like lightning.

Sure, Normie said as he drew the shop key from the pocket in his vest where he had just put it. Unlocking the door, Normie stood to one side and let Lala through first before pushing her cycle in behind her. Gran would slap her across the head if she were still alive. 'That's a good man you're letting go to waste, Missy. Is that how I raised you, to be so unaware and ungrateful?' Gran had been strict, fair, and wonderful. The old mixer had poured a lot of care and attention into Lala during her upbringing. Hell, she could probably find the recipe for the medicine she'd delivered in one of Gran's books, and she still had everything she needed to mix it up, too. She missed her Gran.

You're a good man, Normie, Lala said as Normie quickly looked away and busied himself with charging the fog tank. Lala could see that the tops of his ears were cherry red as he bent over to pump the bellows. Normie never seemed to blush except around her. Maybe tonight she should get things started with a kiss.

Let's get your stuff into the tank, Normie said over his shoulder, still trying to keep his face hidden from view.

Thanks Normie, Lala said as she pulled the bag full of money off her shoulders and threw her gloves into the tank behind it. How long do you think it will take?

Oh, since you just now had contact - maybe five minutes for the fog to work and fifteen minutes for it to clear. Normie was pumping a bellows as he spoke, and the work gave him an excuse to have a red face. Now that he could look at her again, his color was returning to normal despite the work. Lala was never certain if Normie was easily flustered just around her or all women. It wasn't like he had a lot of exposure to other women. He mostly dealt with men in his line of work, Lala was musing as she pulled the cover for her new seat from one of the treated leather saddle-bags that hung over either side of her cycle. There was one way to find out. Lala had a big butt, which she thought was stupid since she had such a small waist. In her opinion it was an eyesore, but the men sure seemed to like it; at least they were always trying to grab it when Normie wasn't around. Glancing at Normie to make sure he was watching, Lala bent over to put the seat cover on. When she was done she put her hands on her hips and cocked her right knee inward slightly. Rude Ricky had said once that her ass looked like the ace of spades when she stood like that, especially with her tight riding leathers on. Twisting only her shoulders to look back at Normie, Lala saw his face go bright red again, and he started pumping furiously away at the bellows. Ok, maybe it was her that got Normie flustered.

Lala walked up to Normie and grabbed his head with both hands. He seemed startled at first, then more so when she kissed him on the lips. For all his size and strength, the moment her lips were on his Normie became a lot less scary.

Been thinkin' about doing that for a while, Lala said. I hope you don't mind me bein' so forward and takin' so long to do it.

A right kind gesture, Normie said in a daze as he lifted his fingers to his mouth and touched his lips lightly. Well, the badger was out of the bag now. Lala had best put some time into finding out all of Normie's hidden quirks and habits. No sense in stringing the man along if she couldn't live with him. The shame of it was that it would be her time of the month in two days, and though that gave her the week that she usually took off to spend time with Normie, it might also be a problem if things progressed quickly. Oh well, no sense worrying about stuff that hasn't ever been a problem yet, as Gran used to say.

Normie was still dazed and suddenly shook his head as if to clear it of the same fog that was swirling around in the tank.

Time to pump the fog out, Normie announced as he threw a lever and started pumping a different bellows. It was important to pump the fog back into its holding tank and seal the tank. If it sat in the bellows too long, it would eat through the leather. That had happened once; all the fog had leaked out during the night, and Normie had to call Old Jim over to recharge the tank. He was further out of pocket when he had to take the bellows to Darcy the leatherman. Best to do things right and save yourself the trouble after. Gran used to say that a lot, too.

You going to be takin' your week off as usual? Normie asked. This time it was Lala's ears that turned red.

Yeah, I figure so, Lala replied demurely.

It might be an idea to go into Simpson for a day. I have a few things I need to pick up, and we could do a little shopping, maybe have lunch at a fancy restaurant. Normie waited with bated breath while Lala thought.

I'd like that, Lala said. Normie's face was taken over by a big smile and two big eyeballs. He looked like a little kid that had been given a surprise gift.

Chapter 2

Pushing her cycle back to The Rat was almost a tradition now. Funny thing was, when she thought about it, Lala realized that no one would be looking to jack a Punk that was pushing their steamcycle. Walking beside the biggest guy in town didn't hurt either. Rude Ricky was waiting outside as Lala and Normie came to a stop at the line of cycles parked in front of The Fat Rat. Let me get this for you, Normie said, You'll be wanting to talk to Frank, I expect.

Thanks Normie, Lala said as she kissed him on the cheek and sashayed in through the front door. Normie cleared his throat as Rude Ricky leaned forward to get a better look at Lala's ass when she walked by.

Well, that's one dream shot to hell, Ricky said with a forlorn shrug before shuffling into The Rat to wait for his tip from Lala.

Not for me, Normie said to himself with a quiet smile. Kicking the stand out with the toe of his boot, Normie carefully parked Lala's cycle and went into The Rat to wait by the bar.

Lala was in the back with Frank by the time Normie made it to the bar. She wouldn't be long; Frank wasn't much for visiting. The crusty old character handled a lot of Courier Guild business on top of his existing duties as the owner of The Fat Rat. When Normie was a kid, Frank used to cook and serve, pour drinks, and toss ornery drunks out all on his own. Now he had Julie the barmaid, Round Ben the cook, and Big Ned who poured drinks if he wasn't tossing drunks out. Creighton might not be as big as the neighboring city of Simpson, but it had grown a lot over the last fifteen years. Folks were proud of the fact that Creighton was almost too big to be called a town these days. One of Normie's favorite things about Creighton was that there was still room. There was room enough to go for a walk, there was room enough to build if a man had a mind to. They had even built a factory in Creighton for making the new airships that the snobs loved so much.

Normie loved the look of the airships. He'd even been in the first one finished at the factory before it was floated. Marvellous things they were. Beautiful finished wood and brass everywhere an eye could look on the inside, and all of that suspended inside the framework that held the hot air and light gas bladders. Staring at the big painting of one that Frank had proudly hung on the west wall of The Rat, Normie lost himself in musings of flying machines. While his eyes traced the lines, Normie remembered that the folks that built the airships didn't use much hot air anymore. Some clever fellow like Tinker Dan had figured out a way to make a gas that worked better than hot air. Not the dangerous kind that would take your eyebrows off if you got to close with a match, but a gas that was even lighter and didn't burn. Heck, it probably was Tinker Dan. That fellow was the most clever and inventive man that Normie had ever met. He loved being invited along with Lala when she went to Dan's shop for mods or repairs. Lala was always surprised at how patient he was while she talked business with Tinker Dan, but the truth was, there was just so much to look at and wonder about.

Normie, Julie said with a big smile as she greeted the hulking man, How are you tonight, handsome?

I can't complain, Julie, Normie replied amiably, Business has been good, and I do believe Lala is treating me to dinner. Julie's mood fell just enough to notice at the mention of Lala. Normie knew Julie was sweet on him, but she wasn't Lala. There was no mistaking that she was a fine woman. She was awful pretty to look at, with long blonde hair and enough curves for two women, but she wasn't Lala. There was a spark inside Lala, something really special. She might not have as big of a bust as Julie or the long legs, but she had the prettiest bottom in the whole town, and her smile made his heart do funny things.

She'll be in the back with Frank, then, Julie said, trying to appear pleasant. Let me set you up with a table while you wait. Ben just took some hot bread out of the oven. I'll bring you half a loaf and a beer to keep you company.

That would be very kind of you, Julie, Normie said with good manners, Much appreciated. Big Ned, who had been carrying a torch for Julie from the day she started work at The Rat, shook his head in wonder. He was darned near as big as Normie and figured that the two were fair similar in looks, but try as he might, Julie only had eyes for Normie. It had to be that Normie owned his own business. Ned could understand Normie and Lala. They looked good together, and everyone liked them; hell, even he liked them despite the fact that Julie kept fussing over Normie, and Lala hardly spoke to him.

Ned? Ned jumped at his name and turned to see Lala looking up at him from the bar.

Sorry 'bout that, what can I get for ya? Ned stuttered quickly.

Just saying hello, Lala replied. You looked a million miles away, and I thought you could use a kind word.

You're a charmer, little lady, Ned said with a smile. What can I get for you?

A couple of beers for Normie and me, if he hasn't ordered, Lala replied with a smile. She turned and looked at Normie who was being fussed over by Julie the barmaid. That hussy had better keep her hands off him if she knew what was good for her. Kind of silly how she fusses over him when she has a man like you handy, isn't it? Lala asked. Ned's opinion of Lala rose a few notches as he looked at her with a bemused smile and shrugged.

Some folk always seem to want what they can't have. Ned said wisely. Lala nodded and sighed.

And some folks tend not to notice what they have right in front of them, Lala said as she thought of herself and not Julie.

You're alright, Punk, Ned said with an honest smile and a lighter heart as he pushed two beers toward Lala.

Thanks Ned, Lala said with a wink, I'll settle up before I leave. Lala smooched at Ned before she finished turning, making sure that Julie caught the gesture. There was no reason that she couldn't light a fire under the silly girl's ass. Paying a little attention to Ned might make him appear all the more desirable to Julie. And maybe if she set her sights on Ned, Julie would keep her damn mitts of Normie until Lala could spend some courtin' time with the man. A little time together and nature should take its course. As much as the thought appealed to Lala, it scared her in equal amounts. Putting just a little extra sway into her hips, Lala carried the two big beer mugs over to the table where Normie sat patiently and set the overflowing mugs down. As usual, Normie stood while she found her seat. At least she'd managed to break him of his habit of pulling her chair out for her. Gran would have said, 'That was a stupid thing to do.' Gran would have been right. Especially if Julie was still watching.

Everything go well with Frank? Normie asked as Lala sat down. He picked up the mug that Julie had brought out with the half oven loaf and butter and was finishing the last swallow when Lala answered.

Business as usual, Lala offered. I kept a little extra out for our trip to Simpson and paid Ricky his fee. He's close to getting set up with a bike again, so he's back in Frank's office trying to talk him into a loan for the rest. A shrewd businessman like Frank could tell if a loan was a good idea or a stupid one. That's why people went to Frank: sometimes more for the advice than the loan itself. Sometimes they went to a man like Arty; that was just plain stupid.

Thanks, Normie said as he lifted the beer Lala had brought for him and gestured to the mug with a tilt of his head. Any chance Frank will take the bait? Normie asked after a sip of beer.

I hope not, Lala replied with a slight frown and she hunched her head down between her shoulders. To be honest, Ricky hasn't thought about money to buy his first contract. All he can think about is getting a cycle again.

You can't blame him, can you? Normie asked.

No, Lala confessed, But he's going to have to take a few high risk deliveries right away to climb back up to a secure position.

Isn't that what Punks do? Normie asked. Every Steampunk I've ever known has stories about the risks they took on those first few wild rides.

I know, Lala grumped. Maybe it's just me being selfish, but he's really good on the street sniffing out information that keeps me safe. I like him there, and I have a bad feeling about him strapping a carry bag back on.

I'm all for anything that makes your life safer, Normie added honestly.

I have a bad feeling about the Guild, to be honest,