Sebastian Gregg 3
Chapter I
Steam is life
Eris sighed, sitting up on the old dilapidated couch on which he slept, the young engineer glanced around, frowning at the dark. "Great, the oil pump stopped again." He muttered to nobody in particular, getting up. He grabbed a book of matches, stumbling across the dark expanse of his home. He cursed in pain when his bare foot rammed into the brushed brass steam boiler "I hate this place." He murmured and twisted the access handle to the coal furnace. He struck a match, reaching down and pressing it between a few lumps of coal, yanking his hand back as the lumps caught fire, the red embers, the world's life blood lighting up the other coals quickly. He smiled grimly as the heat started to radiate up to the water tank, slowly heating the water, which heated the oil reserves that fed the lamps throughout his house. Eris turned, his cat Milo yowling at him. "What Milo? You hungry buddy?" He asked softly, walking to the damp smelling kitchen. Grabbing a can and setting on the unpolished, untreated wood counter. He yanked open a drawer, pulling his manual can opener out. He couldn't afford a nice automated one that ran off a high tension spring. He could barely afford the hole he lived in, and this was the cheapest he could find. He opened the can of cat food for his feline companion and set it down, Milo running to come and eat.
Eris' home sat in the dirtiest of the slums, here is where the hermits lived, the seediest of brothels existed, and the most dangerous of criminals resided. The district Eris lived in was so dangerous that they had a checkpoint guarded by two Minotaur class walkers, short stocky and bristling with weapons meant to stop a full army of the toughest and grittiest of men, armored or not. The machines had blocky hulls in a can shape, the edges rounded to smooth curves, mounted on top of two digitigrade legs, its leg joints protected by nearly eight inches of Cast iron, the hull by ten. It had five 7.62 swiveling machineguns mounted on both the front and the back of the main hull. Each five foot arm had two .50 Caliber heavy mounted machineguns mounted on the back of the hands, the barrels spearing through the knuckle joints of the 'hands', making it useless in walker to walker close combat. The Minotaur walkers stood at fifteen feet. Their legs wrapped in barbed wire to prevent angered civilians to board and take over the machines. They may not have seemed small, but in comparison to the other walkers in the Empire of the Steam paladins, they were dwarfs.
Eris picked up his clock, turning it around to the light and looking at the face, the hands reading eight fifteen in the morning "Great." He groaned, turning back to the furnace and twisting the air intake valve, cutting off the oxygen intake and therefore killing the burn of the coals, scrambling around his home, grabbing his leather jacket and throwing it on, then his boots. They were his brother's old boots from when he served in the Paladin's mounted cavalry. It was the third year since he was killed in a battle. When the captains had come to give him the news, they gave Eris his boots and Cog Tag. The necklace is one that he never took off. It was the one thing Eris had of his brothers besides the boots, and one he could always wear. He pulled his wool socks on quickly, followed by the worn cow hide leather boots, he got up, grabbing his keys and short dirk, sliding the sheathed blade into his boot and standing up, zipping the jacket up to the middle of his chest, opening his door and stepping outside, nodding to his neighbor "Hello Mrs. Fredericks, how is William?" He asked softly, the elder woman smiling kindly.
"He is doing well sweetie, his pneumonia is clearing up well sweetie, thank you for telling us about the steam treatments. He should be back in school in a few days because of you. Bless your heart." She said, smiling gently
Eris nodded in acknowledgment, locking his door and striding down the hall away from his elderly neighbor, reaching the stairs, walking down them quickly, the rubber soles of his boots thudding on the creaking old wood. He wrenched open the rotted wood door that kept the elements out of the building. Shuddering and pulling his jacket tighter around him, he stepped out into the harsh winter of Iron-Gate, ninety miles north of New-London, he walked down the concrete steps of the building onto a wooden plank on top of the mud. Striding down the muddy avenue, nodding in response to the occasional greeting from a friend, or well-known customers at his steam workshop. Eris approached the checkpoint, the rumbling of the steam boilers audible from the Minotaur's were audible around the corner, and as he rounded the street corner the main hatch on the Minotaur to the right opened, the working engineer for the Minotaur named the "Big Bertha" Climbing out onto the top.
"Hey Eris!" HE said, waving his hand and wiping the soot off on his overalls. Pulling the goggles off his face and smiling
"Tobias! What is going on with that boiler friend? I'm going to have to fix that if you can't maintain it!" Eris said with a smile. Tobias scoffed in amusement and dropped back down into the hulking machine, closing the hatch as he approached the checkpoint, pulling out his wallet with his identification and handing it to the officer at the chain link gate. The man in his mid-forties nodded softly, handing the wallet back to him. Eris grunted in thanks, walking through the gate quietly, heading into the industrial sector of the city, it was a lot more of a money area, but this made it no prettier, it was dirty. There was no well-made buildings, just thrown together buildings to house shipping containers holding three hundred boxes of a thousand firing pins, to ice packed, insulated boxes full of exotic foods for the rich in the wealthier part of the city.
Walking down these streets Eris could see how truly dangerous working here was, and how much most of the men and women workers suffered. Standing in the streets, their arms in makeshift slings, eyes covered by bandages covering head wounds. It was a truly sad sight to see. How many families had been hurt by this, how many fathers and mothers had been lost? He sighed sadly as a small handful of new unemployed started to beg, not yet knowledgeable to the fact that nobody else had any more money here. Eris skirted the beggars quietly, head down to avoid attention. He started to move at a brisker pace as soon as he had cleared the throng of the injured, poor and broken men and women of Iron-Gate. He reached his machinist workshop and sighed, opening the heavy iron lock on the metal gate protecting the expensive machines that built, maintained, and occasionally fixed the machines of the poorer regions of Iron-Gate. Eris sighed, walking through the musty main office area, flipping switches attached to flint and steel on the other side, the sparks lighting up a small buildup of natural gas flowing from a pipe. The gas caught, fire rushing through the pipes, making them shake and groan, each pipe leading to a coal furnace, lighting the lumps of carbon. The furnaces ran just like Eris' smaller furnace at home, heating a pool of water above them and melting fat reserves for the lamps. He sighed as he watched motes of dust float down from the old pipes before donning his machinist apron and gloves to protect from steam burns.
Eris brushed a lock of dirty brown hair from his eyes, walking into the main workshop, and approaching his father's old steam car, a Stanley 1912 model from before the great bombings of the German empire. It was his father's before he was killed by a mugger. The paint on the vehicle was chipping, the metal underneath old and rusted. He grabbed the special goggles that kept his eyes from being destroyed by the burning light of his cutting torch. Eris put them on, picking up the cutting torch and starting it, walking up to the machine, he held the torch in one hand away from the car and himself. Pulling out a marker he marked out a three foot square on the machine's side. Eris dropped the marker onto the floor, lifting the torch and putting the nozzle to the metal, sparks flying as the white hot flame cut through the inch thick iron. He finished cutting the square of metal out, the chunk falling and landing on his foot. Eris cursed and kicked his foot, the metal singing the leather of his boots. He sighed, going to the metal storage shelves and grabbing a 3x3 piece of metal one inch thick. Eris picked up the torch, twisting the control knob, the flame becoming a dull orange, picking up the metal he pressed it against the gaping hole in the driver's door, welding it into place quietly.
Standing up, Eris extinguished the torch, wiping a line of sweat from his brow. He turned, walking to a cluttered work bench, grabbing a door handle mechanism, tracing the size of the internal guts that allowed the door to open, setting the handle down, he put his goggles back on, relighting the torch and started to cut out the rectangle. Eris snuffed out the torch, fitting the handle into place. He reached through the open window, twisting the internal handle and opening the car door. As soon as it was open Eris moved to the edge of the open door, where the side panel was removed, reaching through and connecting the wires and bolts. He moved back, fitting the missing panel into place and closing the door. He twisted the handle and the locking mechanism clunked, the door swinging open. Eris nodded in satisfaction and closed it again, the clip catching on the loop and holding it closed. "There." He murmured to himself.
Eris wiped a streak of grime off his cheeks with the back of his glove before removing them, along with the apron and goggles. Setting them on an old rickety chair and walking to the garage door, grabbing a chain and pulling down, pulleys squeaking and clanking as the chains ran through them. The sheet metal door started to rise, letting a rush of cold winter air into the shop. He gave an involuntary shudder as goose bumps raised on his arms. Eris let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and turned, grabbing his jacket off the coat hook and slipping it on. The young mechanic sighed softly, heat returning to his cold ridden limbs. He walked out onto the concrete lamps and looked out along the dirt road for potential customers. Eris flopped down onto the concrete lamp as soon as he saw none, sighing as he reclined back onto the cold rock. He started to drift down into the dark embrace of sleep.