CHAPTER 3: The Night of the Steampunk Menace
Kevin and Vivian moved into the living room. Kevin was stretched out on the couch, his eyes droopy and distant. Vivian occupied the recliner in the corner next to the reading lamp. They both sipped on cups of Earl Gray with milk and lemon, Vivian's favorite.
"So what happened next?" she asked.
"Hm?" Kevin roused himself out of his drowsy state. "Where was I?"
"You were leaving Los Angeles in Bob's car," said Vivian. "You'd hit the desert."
"Oh, right. Yea. Well, it wasn't long before I realized the disaster wasn't centered within Beverly Hills. It looked like the whole system was in trouble. We drove for less than an hour before something completely unexpected happened. We ran into another sector."
I had taken the wheel. At first all I saw was a stretch of road running all the way toward the horizon then it was like we drove through a waterfall. It's hard to explain it really. It wasn't there until we ran into it, an invisible wall of water separating one sector from another. It was literally like crossing over into another universe. The desert disappeared, and in front of us was a rocky path with nothing but bushes and trees on either side.
The car was changed, too. It became a horse and buggy at almost the same instant we crossed the invisible threshold. I was holding the reins to a pair of plow horses, and we were bouncing along the path as if we had been on it all along.
"What in the hell?" I head Bob shout.
I pulled on the reins and stopped the horses. Our clothes had changed, too. We were dressed like frontiersmen. Dot's white silk gown became a black and crimson cotton and lace dress with a wide-brimmed bonnet. Bob wore chaps, a white cotton shirt and a cowboy hat with boots and spurs. I was wearing a long duster and vest with a bolo tie around my collar and a six-shooter in a leather holster strapped around my waist. On my hands were cattleman's gloves, and my hat was a tan leather slouch with the left half of the brim pinned to the crown, just like the old volunteer calvary officers used to do.
I was just as surprised by our transformation as Bob and Dot. I had at the very least hoped it was only one game environment spread over the whole system. Now, it looked like I had multiple games running in different sectors. This was not turning out to be an easy day.
"What's going on, Dash?" asked Dot. "Why do we look like this? And what happened to the car?"
"I think this is the car," I said.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Bob.
"It means the worst case scenario just became the scenario," I said.
I jumped out of the wagon and walked down the path we had just come. I picked up a rock and threw it through the air. Sure enough I saw the energy field flicker and change color as the rock passed through it, a hidden barrier visible only when something passed through it. On the other side, no doubt, was the LA noir game we were running from. Now, after crossing over into a new sector, we'd entered a new game. I couldn't even begin to guess how this was happening. I needed to find someone, anyone, who could tell me what was going on, someone who remembered Mainframe. My prospects were not looking so good, though.
"Sawyer, what is going on?" Bob asked. "You know more than you're letting on, I can tell."
"You're right," I said. "I do know more than I've told you, but I don't know how this is happening, I swear."
"Then tell us what you do know," Bob said.
"It's complicated," I said. "It's like your world and another world, maybe a whole bunch of other worlds, are being squeezed together."
"What do you mean other worlds?" asked Dot.
"Different places, different eras, other realities that might not even exist in the real world."
"You'd better get straight with me, Sawyer," said Bob. "I'm not in any mood for games."
"That's exactly what all this is. Its a game, or rather different games overlapping each other and covering up the real universe."
"You're talkin' nonsense," Bob said, throwing up his hands and walking away.
"I know I'm doing a bad job of explaining this, but it's the best I can do. There are other realities out there, higher dimensions and planes of existence that have been inaccessible to us until now."
"I've had enough of this crazy talk," Bob said. "I've got the mind to turn this crate around and go back the way we came."
"You're right, that's exactly what you should do," I said. "On the other side of that energy field is the world you left behind. As soon as you cross it, you should both revert back to the form you were before."
"You're not coming with us?" asked Dot.
"I can't," I said. "I'm the only person who remembers the real world, which means I've got to be the one who sets things back the way they were."
"Sawyer, listen to yourself, man," said Bob. "You've gone of the deep end."
"Dash, he might be right," Dot said.
"Don't tell me you're buying into this!"
"How else can you explain it?" Dot asked. "Look at us. We've changed. We should be in the desert, but instead we're in a forest. The car changed into a wagon and a couple of mules. He must be right."
"You're both mental, you know that?"
"I liked you better when you were Bob," I said.
"Who?" he asked.
"Never mind. Look, thanks for getting me this far, but you guys can't help me, not like this. I've got to find someone who remembers Mainframe. This mess can't have touched every corner of the system."
I took what I could carry from the wagon, which wasn't much. The items in the car had been altered to conform with the new game reality. I took an extra box of ammo, a canteen of water and some gold coin from a strongbox. I watched as Bob and Dot turned the buggy around and disappeared through the field.
I was on my own again. I was in a wooded area of tall pines and maple trees. The sun was at its zenith, which put my time at midday. I had at least six hours of daylight, so I chose a direction and started walking.
An hour later, after following the trail, I came across some railroad tracks and decided to follow them. A little while later I came into a large mining town. It was Deadwood, North Dakota, one of the most famous frontier towns of the Old West. Considering my outfit and the general layout of the environment, I wasn't really surprised. The town was nestled in the narrow valley between two small mountains.
The period buildings were little more than wooden shacks piled one atop the other. I walked along the streets and sideboards until I came to a saloon. The lunch hour for the Stagecoach Inn & Saloon sounded like it was in full swing, so I pushed aside the swinging doors and marched inside. There was an authentic mechanical piano in the corner cranking out a tune on a rotating spindle and brass spittoons beside every table and along the length of the bar. A long salon mirror covered the wall behind the heavy oak counter, giving the impression of two rooms squished together with the bar in the middle. Overhead were oil lamps with glass shades hanging from the ceiling.
There were two stories to the building. Upstairs and along a balcony that overlooked the saloon were a row of wooden doors that must have led into hotel rooms. The walls were decorated with memorabilia from the town's patrons, mainly stuffed animal heads and black and white photographs in simple wooden frames. There were a dozen tables around the floor, many with games of poker and blackjack going on.
Normally, I'd never set foot in a bar, but the local tavern was the place where everybody knew everybody. My reasoning told me I was most likely to run into somebody I knew if I stuck around long enough, assuming they had been in the sector during the disaster. As it turned out, I didn't have to wait long.
I was hungry, so I went up to the bar and ordered a meal with a glass of beer so pale it made low calorie microbrew look tasty. That's when I looked over at the poker table and saw Mouse lay down a full house and take the pot with a sly grin.
"Gol'dang," said one of the players as he slapped his cards down on the table. "It's bad enough bein' beat by a stranger, but a woman..."
"Now, don't be that way, sugah," Mouse said soothingly. "After all, turnaround is fair play."
"Don't you be goin' and battin' them perdy eyes at me, missy," said the binome. "I'm a professional."
"Well, what a coincidence. So am I. Now, care to try and win some of that money back?" She shuffled the deck like an expert.
She was wearing a tan waistcoat and khaki jockey breeches with leather riding boots that covered her calves. A broach was pinned to the collar of her frilly white shirt. In the leg of her boot I saw the handle of her katana sticking out.
"I know when to cut my losses," the binome said. "I'll be sittin' this one out and any other game that has you in it."
He got up, collected his chips and walked away. I was never one to turn down a game of poker, so I offered to fill the seat. Mouse gave me a once over and smiled sweetly.
"Buy-in is five dollars," she said.
I laid out a few gold coins and got my chips. We played for a while. I ended up going head-to-head with Mouse several times. Another one of the players ended up leaving the game. He'd lost everything. He shuffled away drunk and angry and cursing under his breath. In the last hand I finally succeeded in beating Mouse's straight with a royal flush. I took the pot. It was almost five hundred dollars.
"I think you've played this game before, mister," she said.
"The name's Sawyer," I said. "Kevin Sawyer." I didn't seem to ring any bells.
"Well, Mr. Sawyer, enjoy the fruits of you labor." She got up and headed toward the exit.
"Seeing as how I came in during the middle of your game, I'd say at least half of this money is yours," I said. She turned and look at me with an amused expression. "I wouldn't be very professional if I didn't give you your rightful earnings."
"You're very generous," she said. "And how do you propose to split the pot?"
"We can talk about that over diner. My treat."
She smiled again, that sly, crooked grin that would make men blissfully fall down a flight of stairs. Then, from out of nowhere, my chair was knocked out from under me. A pair of strong hands lifted me up by by the collar of my duster, and I was brought face-to-face with the grimy mug of one of the game characters. He was the one who lost all his money during the poker game. I guess he didn't take losing too well.
"You cheat at cards," he said. There was liquor on his breath.
"I guess they haven't invented the Altoid yet."
He cocked his arm back and knocked me back with the hardest jab to the chin I'd ever felt. I stumbled back and fell against a dinner table. He came at me, but this time I was ready for him. I lunged at him, driving my shoulder into his waist and wrapped my arms around the crook of his right knee. I pulled upwards, lifting his leg while continuing to push him backwards. He tumbled to the floor and landed on his back. I ended up in the saddle position straddling his waist. A palm strike to the forehead dazed him and a right blow to the jaw knocked him out.
Suddenly, two more of his friends grabbed me under the armpits and hauled me up. One held me while the other proceeded to beat me senseless. I threw my head back and felt my crown make contact with soft tissue. It loosened his grasp long enough for me to palm strike my other assailant on the forehead. A jack kick to the solar plexus sent him down. I turned and saw the second character, the one who had been holding me-I'd given him a bloody nose-reach for his gun. I grabbed a beer mug off the bar and slammed it with all my might across his face. It shattered against his jaw, and he hit the floor, unconscious and immobilized.
I grabbed my hat and turned to leave just in time to see the marshal walk in with a Winchester rifle leveled at my stomach. I ended up spending the next half hour in a jail cell with my attackers, listening to them moan and complain in a united drunken stupor. A deputy came and opened my cell, saying my bail had been paid.
Mouse greeted me in the marshal's office. I collected my effects and we we left together, she taking my arm.
"You posted my bail?" I asked.
"I figured you could pay me back with the earnings. After all, you did agree to an even split of the pot back there. A lady needs to look out for her investments. Plus the invitation to an evening meal with a champion poker player like yourself was too good to pass up."
"In that case, m'lady," I said, "I am at your disposal. By the way, I didn't catch your name."
"Violet," she said simply.
Very fitting, I thought to myself. "Is that a Miss or a Misses?"
"Just Violet," she replied cryptically.
We ate dinner at one of the finer restaurants in Deadwood. I guessed the year was sometime around the turn of the twentieth century. The tables were covered with patterned tablecloths and lace doilies, the rooms lit by oil lamps and wax candles. The walls were covered in floral paper that looked dingy in the orange candlelight.
"What kind of work are you in to, Mr. Sawyer," she asked.
I decided to stick to the military background, only I changed the details a bit. "I was in the Army for a while. After the war I decided to come out West and see what I could find."
"What outfit were you with?" she asked.
I took a gamble and it paid off. "1st US Volunteer Calvary. I rode under Colonel Roosevelt at San Juan Hill."
"The Rough Riders," she said approvingly. "Now those were some men with true grit. I kind of figured you were a calvary officer from the hat."
"And what about you?" I asked. "I take it you don't hustle poker for a living."
"If you're going to say poker and whiskey are unbecoming hobbies for a lady, let me save you the trouble."
"I'm a pretty progressive fella," I said. "But a woman of means, like yourself, doesn't really need to gamble for money's sake alone."
"What makes you think I'm a woman of means?" she asked, obviously intrigued.
"Those riding boots of yours are brand new and custom made," I said, noticing there wasn't a speck of mud on them, and they hadn't been completely broken in. "The same goes for your riding outfit. I can't think of many women who can wear jockey trousers without visiting a tailor first. Good fashion usually comes with a high price tag, but the first thing that tipped me off was how you were willing to walk away from five hundred dollars you'd won almost single-handedly."
Her smile grew wider and wider, becoming more amused, as I explained my list of observations and deductions.
"Aren't you a regular Sherlock Holmes," Mouse said. "I must be losing my touch."
"It's obvious because you try and hide it."
"Now what could I be hiding, Mr. Sawyer? I'm the sweetest, most innocent lil' thang you'll ever meet."
"Sweet I can believe," I said. "But a smile like that could inspire a slew of sermons about the temptations of the flesh."
"I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted," she said. She didn't sound displeased in the least bit.
"Just call it an observation," I said.
After dinner, I walked her to the train station. Apparently, Mouse's character wasn't just well-off; she was flat out loaded. She had her own train waiting on a private line on the west side of the yard. The steam locomotive was hitched to two cars. The end car was like a palace, all brass fittings, polished mahogany and velvet curtains. There was leather furniture everywhere and a fireplace and mantle against the front of the car. A door to the right gave access to the forward car, which I assumed was where her living quarters were.
Mouse removed her jacket and unceremoniously threw it across the arm of the love seat.
"This is yours?" I asked, removing my slouch hat.
"More like it's on loan," she said, "but what I do with it is all up to me."
That's when she caught me by surprise and laid one on me. It must have taken a few seconds for my brain to register what was happening because I don't remember the actual kiss. I just remember her hand on my neck puling me down so she could kiss my lips.
"Hold on," Vivian broke in.
"She kissed you?" she asked. "Did you kiss her back?"
"Well...given the situation...I was kind of caught off guard..."
"Kevin, this is very important. Did. You. Kiss. Her. Back?"
"You have to understand, Viv, I wasn't dealing with Mouse, per sae, I was dealing with her game character."
"Stop avoiding my question," Vivian snapped. "Did you, or didn't you?"
"I thought it would be awkward if I didn't, so yea. But that's all we did!"
"What do you mean that's all you did?" asked Vivian. She sounded crushed and disappointed, as if she had been robbed.
"I mean all I did was kiss her," he said.
Vivian huffed. "Well, I guess it's better than nothing."
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not a dead fish, you know."
"You're just a bloody cold one."
"That's not fair," Kevin said. "Mouse is with Ray. It would have been completely shameful if I'd taken advantage of her like that."
"It sounds like she was the one taking all the advantages," Vivian said.
"Mouse has a very...affectionate personality. Just ask Bob. He'll tell you."
"We're not talking about Bob, we're talking about your state of mind."
"I was utterly mortified."
"Kevin!"
"What am I supposed to say, Vivian? If steam could have shot out of my ears like a steam whistle, it would have."
"Excellent. Continue."
Now, let me clarify something. I don't share the same orbit with fast women and whiskey. Call me provincial if you like. Whatever. So when Mouse kissed me, my mind skipped a couple of seconds like a scratched record because I suddenly realized where my hands were, and I stopped myself.
"Ohhhh..." she groaned, "...what's the matter, sugah?" she asked, her voice deep and sultry.
She looked up at me with half-lidded eyes and that impish smile that seemed to make a million promises without saying a word. I knew if I didn't leave right at that instant, I'd cross the point of no return. Unfortunately, I couldn't move.
"Mouse, I mean Violet...we can't do this," I said.
"But I thought-"
"It's not you, it's me. I'm about to collapse."
I winced in pain. My body was finally succumbing to its injuries from the bar fight, effectively killing the mood.
"Oh, you poor darlin'," Mouse said.
She pushed me back until I felt my knees bump against the edge of a long leather couch. I slowly lowered myself into a seated position. Mouse unbuttoned my vest and made me shrug off my shirt. Blotchy, ugly bruises were starting to form around my ribs and abdomen. There was a sharp pain around my eye that had matured from a dull throb to an all-out knifing sensation.
"Of course...I should have realized-"
I cut her off. "Don't apologize," I said. "I feel bad enough already."
She started poking at my ribcage gently. I was enjoying her bedside manner more than I should have.
"No ribs broken, she said, "but they might be cracked."
"That explains the pain every time I breathe."
She smiled sweetly, and pulled my feet up on the couch so that I was lying down.
"You fight like a young man, but you moan and groan like your best years are already behind you."
"To quote one of my favorites, 'It's not the age; it's the mileage.'"
"That's good," she said. "I like a man with a few miles on him."
"You never slow down, do you?" I asked.
"Never. Now, where does it hurt most?"
"Everywhere from the waist up," I said.
"Like here?" She put her finger on a yellowing bruise over my bottom ribs.
"Yea." She leaned down and kissed the spot.
"What about here?" she asked, pointing to another purple bruise higher on my chest.
I swallowed and nodded. She kissed that spot, too. My body didn't know whether to be excited or fatigued, but my drooping eyelids and wandering attention span told me I was on the verge of falling asleep.
"What about here?" she asked. She softly ran her fingers across my chin.
"Uh-huh," I said, trying to fight the inevitable.
She kissed my chin. Then she kissed me again, gently, careful not to hurt my swollen bottom lip. I felt my head roll back; it had become too heavy for me to hold up. I passed out with the memory of Mouse's kiss on my lips still in my head.
The gentle rocking motion of the train roused me from my sleep. My torso had two layers of gauze bandages wrapped around it from the top of my navel to the bottom of my pecs. Someone had cleaned my wounds with water and ointment, and my clothes were folded neatly and laid out on the love seat. I had remained on the couch all night, a wool blanket draped over my body. I peeked underneath and found I still had my underwear on. I shrugged my shoulders and cast the cover aside.
I stood up, flexing my muscles and testing my body for pain. My ribs were still brutally sore, and I was grateful for the bandages covering my bruises. I probably looked like a wreck underneath. I dressed slowly. My clothes had been cleaned and pressed. I put on the shirt, pants and vest, but I left the bolo tie and the duster on the couch. I rolled up my sleeves and looked in the mirror over the mantle. The bruises around my face weren't as bad as they felt. The pain around my eye only popped up when I turned my head too fast.
Mouse came in from the forward car. She was wearing a tweed riding coat and matching jockey pants, her riding boots and a gun belt with an empty holster.
"You look better," she said. "Well, awake anyway."
As if my pride wasn't bruised enough.
"Thanks for bandaging me up," I said. I peered out the windows and saw the tree line race past as we moved along the line. "Mind if I ask where we're headed?"
"You can ride with me all the way to Cleveland," she said. "After that you'll have to arrange your own transportation."
I pointed at the empty holster. "Expecting trouble?"
"Girl's gotta be prepared," she said. Mouse walked over to the minibar and pressed a wooden lever inlaid into the table, activating a complex mechanism. The mirror slid upwards revealing a secret compartment, and the table top flipped over , presenting Mouse with an array of revolvers and other weapons.
"Let me guess," I said. "Overkill is underrated."
"Would I sound cliche is I said it was complicated?"
"Considering how my week's been going so far, no. Although I have to say I am curious."
Mouse selected an expensive-looking Remington revolver with pearl handles and nickel plating. It held eight shots, and the trigger guard had been removed.
"You any good?" Mouse asked, pointing at my gun.
"I'd almost forgotten I had it. "I manage."
"Let me see it," she said.
I handed it to her. Mouse spun the cylinder, tested its weight then twirled it around her finger like an expert gunslinger.
"Colt Peacemaker," she said. "Fine gun, but it doesn't have much style." She reached up and pulled down a Webley Mk. 3. "If the Brits know how to do anything, its gunsmithing. This is the newest model Webley. It's a breach loader, holds six .445 caliber cartridges and the cylinder is self-extracting. Cuts reloading time in half."
She handed it to me butt first.
"Does this mean we're going steady?" I asked.
"After last night, consider the slate clean," she said. "You missed your chance, so you'll have to work twice as hard if you want another."
"Why don't you tell me what the score is and I'll decide if it's worth it."
She opened a leather wallet and tossed it on the bar. I saw a silver badge with the symbol of the Treasury Department stamped in the center and the words "Secret Service" carved above and below it.
"I see what you mean by complicated."
"Consider yourself drafted," she said.
"For what?"
"I was sent here by the President to investigate the whereabouts of a man named Robur. Have you heard of him?"
"The name sounds vaguely familiar," I said.
"He's a science pirate," Mouse said. "In the same league as that sea devil Captain Nemo, only Robur is a master of the air."
"Master of the air?"
Mouse nodded. "He's the only man who knows the secret of heavier-than-air flight. His machines can defy gravity and deliver death anywhere. He calls himself the Master of the World."
The Master of the World, I thought. Jules Verne, of course! Robur was a character created by Jules Verne who was a protagonist in two of his books, one of which was titled Master of the World. In the novels, he was a mad genius who had discovered the principles of powered flight long before the Wright Brothers and used his flying machines it to terrorize the world. He was almost a carbon copy of Captain Nemo, only instead of menacing the seas, Robur exacted his revenge from the skies, raining chaos from above.
This game must revolve around Robur in some way, I thought. "I know who you're talking about," I said. "I thought he was dead."
"We thought so, but he's got more lives than a cat," Mouse said. "Our intelligence suggests he's planning to steal a device that's on its way to Fort Jericho from Nikola Tesla's lab in Colorado Springs."
"Tesla?" I said. "What's he got to do with this?"
"Tesla was commissioned by the War Department to build us a power source for our own aerial battleship, somethin' that could produce electricity without using a fossil fuel source. Instead, he gave us somethin' that could give us a real edge against Robur and his air ships. We'll finally be able to drive that old crow off American soil once and for all. Robur sees the device as a threat to his monopoly on air power. He'll do anything to get it for himself."
"I don't understand. What did Tesla build that could make Robur so nervous?"
"Look, the less you know, the better," Mouse said. "I had planned to go this mission alone, but I couldn't just leave you all knocked up like that."
"It's okay. I'm grateful, and I don't mind tagging along. Just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."
"Since I didn't turn up any leads in Deadwood, we're headed to rendezvous with the train that's carrying the device. We should meet them sometime today. It'll be our job to escort it all the way Cleveland, then from there an army garrison will take it the rest of the way to Fort Jericho."
"Why were you in Deadwood in the first place?" I asked.
"Army Intelligence thought they had found Robur's new base of operations, an abandoned mining outpost somewhere in the mountains near Deadwood. A few local prospectors had gone missing in an area about ten miles outside of town. I searched for almost a week, but I got nowhere. If Robur was there, he'd cleared out long before I showed up."
A voice with a heavy Irish brogue came through a box on the wall. "Miss Violet, we're catchin' up to the convoy. Seven hundred years and closing."
Mouse grabbed the bullhorn, releasing a U-shaped metal hook like an old telephone. "Get us within five hundred yards and hold speed, Jenkins."
" 'Aye, ma'am."
Mouse hung up the horn. It was some kind of intercom system.
"Care for some breakfast?" she asked.
Now that she mentioned it, I was pretty hungry. "Sure."
She picked up the horn again. "Pierre, our guest is awake and hungry. We'll have breakfast in the palace car."
"Madame, I am not a waiter," came the reply through the box.
"You're on my payroll, so you'll be whatever the hell I say you are," she said. "Breakfast. Five minutes."
A few minutes later, I saw Cecil enter the car, his computer monitor head stuck, rather comically, to a humanoid body minus a neck. He wore a French maƮtre d outfit with his signature white gloves. He laid a silver tray of toast, marmalade, and jam on the coffee table between the sofa and the love seat. He disappeared again into the forward car and returned with another silver tray with a pot of fresh coffee, two china cups and saucers, sugar, honey and cream.
"Will that be all, madame?" he asked, clearly resentful of his station in life.
"For now, sugah," she said.
He looked at me, rolled his eyes and went away with a sneer. We ate quietly, the subject of last night never coming up. I got the distinct impression I'd disappointed her by not being more open to her advances. Don't get me wrong, I like women and sex as much as the next guy, but I've never had women throw themselves at me, nor have I ever been particularly good at wooing the opposite sex. In the end, it didn't really matter what she saw in me or why; this wasn't Mouse, at least not as I knew her. Succumbing to her would have made things complicated, and they were already complicated enough.
"Miss Violet," said the voice of Jenkins through the intercom, "I think we've got incoming. Unidentified craft off the starboard side, thirty degree inclination!"
Mouse and I ran to the windows. Up in the air, easily keeping pace with us and moving parallel with the train, was a flying contraption that looked like something taken from the pages of Leonardo Da Vinci. It had a spinning rotor which produced lift while a pair of bat-like wings and two jet exhausts from its aft end generated thrust and direction control. Mouse grabbed a pair of field binoculars and studied the flying machine.
"It's him," she said, handing me the binocs.
I looked through the glasses at the machine, amazed that something so crude could fly like it did. It looked like an early attempt at a gyrocopter; the body was metallic, but the skeleton wings were made from bamboo and cloth. It swooped in a graceful arc, closing on our train in a graceful arc.
Mouse grabbed the horn. "Jenkins, lay on the steam, sugah! Get us as close as you can to the convoy."
"I'll have ye right un top of 'er directly, ma'am," Jenkins said.
I felt the train accelerate. Mouse tossed me a box of ammo. I loaded my new Webley and pocketed the remaining shells. I followed Mouse into the forward car. We passed a kitchenette, bedroom, wardrobe and finally came out the other side where we climbed into the cab of the tank engine. At the controls was an old binome in a black and white stripped engineer's cap and overalls.
"We're gaining on them Army boys, miss, that we are," he said in his distinctive Irish accent. "We'll be less than a hundred yards in thirty seconds."
"I need the grapple," Mouse said.
"I've already got 'er 'ooked up to the steam pump."
Jenkins handed Mouse a bazooka-looking device that resembled a brass and steel version of the Nintendo Super Scope with a metal spike sticking out of a flared nozzle. A flexible hose plugged into the gun's underside and ran into a steam pump inside the cab.
"What the hell is that thing for?" I asked.
"We need to get on that train," said Mouse. "This is our ticket."
Jenkins handed her a small box with a carabiner and hook bolted to it. Mouse climbed up a ladder and through a trap door in the cab's ceiling. I looked helplessly at Jenkins, the engineer.
" 'Aye, lad, she's a live one," he said. "But stick close to 'er and she'll not steer ye wrong."
"It's not her I'm worried about," I said. "Can you keep this thing steady?"
"My nerves are as solid as this engine's iron guts! Now off with ye, before I be a'throwin' you off me train, boyo."
I climbed up the ladder after Mouse. The air whipped past my face furiously. The adrenaline saturating my blood made me feel invincible, but every labored breath I took reminded me of my injuries. I had to stick with Mouse until we hit the game boundary. For all I knew, she could be nullified if she got killed.
I slowly made my way along the roof of the tank engine toward the front. Mouse was already kneeling in front of the smokestack, bracing herself against the metal beam, her staticky orange hair tossed into greater chaos by the air moving through it like so many invisible fingers. She smiled when she saw me, her dark crimson eyes conveying amusement and something else. Pride? Maybe gratitude. I didn't have time to really decode all her expressions. She turned her attention back to the caboose of the train ahead of us. She braced the grapple against her shoulder, sighted in and pulled the trigger. A great puff of steam followed a loud pop from the tip of the grapple as the spike went hurtling at the caboose, a small metal wire trailing after it. The spike sank deep into the wooden frame of the caboose. Mouse pulled the wire taunt and secured it to the train using a mechanical crank in front of the smokestack. She then opened the metal box Jenkins had given her, exposing the gearwork inside. She closed it around the cable and hooked it to her belt.
She winked at me and mouthed something. I leaned in closer to hear her over the wailing wind between us. She grabbed my collar and laid another epic kiss on me. Before I could even react she pushed herself off the front of the train and started pulling herself down the wire toward the other train. I silently prayed that Jenkins, or whoever he really was in Mainframe, could keep our speed constant, that the wire wouldn't sag or pull apart. Either way meant certain death for Mouse. I breathed a sigh of relief when she made it to the car.
The box must have had a mechanical spring inside because it same zipping along the wire back towards me. I grabbed it and hooked it to my belt the same way Mouse had done. I lowered myself off the front end of the train, wrapping my left leg around the wire to keep me stable while I pulled myself across.
I made it halfway when I looked up and saw the flying craft swing around. It seemed to hover over me like some menacing creature from a nightmare I'd once had as a child. It raced ahead, and I continued to follow it, transfixed. Then I saw it drop something. An explosion shook me on the wire, and I felt my body tense up. It was dropping bombs. I redoubled my efforts to reach the train ahead. Another explosion, this one closer. I could feel the heat from that one!
I looked and saw Mouse trying to shoot at the flying machine with her Remington. She wasn't being very effective. The third bomb jared me off the wire. The little box came to pieces, and I was left dangling over the few feet of space between my body and the blurred railroad track beneath me. I had to bend my legs at the knees to keep from scraping the ground. There was no way I could make it across without the assistance of the mechanical box. The metal wire cut into my fingers as my weight seemed to increase with each painful second.
I looked at Mouse again. She knew I was done for; the helpless look on her face told me as much. Just when I felt as if my grip would fail, I saw a faint flicker of light form around me. The world seemed to fade away as if I'd touched a mirage. The cable vanished, and I fell.
"WARNING: SYSTEM INSTABILITY. WARNING: SYSTEM INSTABILITY."
The monotone voice of the system greeted me like an old friend. I was back in Mainframe. I'd passed through the very edge of the game wall and reentered an untouched part of the system. I looked behind me and saw the familiar energy barrier that separated the different game realities. Here it was visible, an undulating wall of white energy, crackling with power.
I looked around. The sky was dark, literally. It was like someone had turned off the picturesque blue sky, and all that remained was the ugly backlight of the containment field. Sparks of electricity surged across the sky, making ghostly apparitions of the surrounding cityscape.
"Hey, you!" I was confronted with a CPU trooper named Sergeant Smiley. "Aren't you that viral expert from the Supercomputer?"
"Kevin Sawyer, yea," I said.
"Great User's Ghost, am I glad to see you," he said.
"Give me a SitRep," I said. "I need to know the extent of the damage."
"We've lost contact with ninety-eight percent of the system," he said. "The last Game Cube that dropped went critical, some kind of mass data transfer. Then these energy fields popped up around every sector. We don't know what they are, but-"
"They're games," I said. "There was a virus trapped in the Game Cube. He tried to escape using the code sampling device, but it didn't work. Instead, I think it separated Mainframe into different game environments that the sampler had in its memory."
"And the people inside?" he asked.
"They all think they're part of the game," I said. "I've already seen Bob and Dot. They're fine, but they're in no position to help. The same goes for Mouse."
"Then we're all done for!" he cried loudly in desperation.
"Now is no time to panic," I said. "Where's the Principal Office?"
He pointed toward a structure that I hadn't yet noticed. It seemed to be in the center of the energy fields, almost as if it were pulling them toward it like the eye of a hurricane.
"That's the Principal Office?" I asked.
"What's replaced it," Smiley said dismally.
This thing did not belong in Mainframe. It looked like a demented artist's twisted, demonic version of the Disneyland castle. It looked infected with evil, if that were possible. Green mist seemed to rise from every crevice on its surface. The spires and ramparts were jagged and edged in a way totally inconsistent with Euclidean geometry. It was a festering wound, ugly and misshapen, yet it had an elegance to it that spoke of a deeply-rooted narcissism and malevolence. It rose into the sky like the tip of a spear piercing the very heart of the system.
"Has anybody tried to get inside?" I asked.
"We sent a few troops through the intrasystem portals, but...none ever came back."
"Portals? What portals?"
Smiley handed me a vidpad. It had a diagram of the system on it. The red areas seemed to indicate the energy fields. The smaller blue areas were places where the uneven boundaries of those fields had allowed little oasises of the real Mainframe to remain intact in between. Then there were blinking yellow dots scattered all over the diagram.
"It must have something to do with how Game Cubes can stabilize tears into portals," said Smiley. "There's a few around here that lead into the red zones, but nobody's tried to use them since our personnel disappeared inside the Principal Office."
"Is there a way to identify individual PID signatures with this?" I asked.
"Which ones?" asked Smiley.
"The senior staff," I said. "Bob, Dot, Matrix, AndrAIa, all of them."
Smiley took the pad and punched in a few commands. He handed it back to me, and I saw seven PID icons had appeared. I tapped on one with my finger and a picture of Matrix appeared. I touched another and I got a picture of Mouse. I touched a third icon and I got a picture of Welman Matrix in his sprite form, glasses, mustache and all.
"Hold on," I said. "Why is Welman Matrix on here?"
"Beats me," Smiley said. "The sensors must be acting eight-bit. The whole system's been turned on its head."
I tapped one of the yellow dots, and a yellow line appeared connecting it to another yellow dot on the other side of Mainframe. I could trace where the portals led within the system using the vidpad.
"I need to borrow this," I said.
"What for?" asked Smiley.
"I'm going back inside the game grid," I said. "Hopefully, I'll be able to use this to track everybody down and bring them out safely through the portals."
"Why weren't you affected in the first place?"
"I don't know," I lied. "Maybe it was because I was inside the game when it happened. Look, I don't have time to explain everything now. I've got to get back and help Mouse. Just keep the survivors outside those energy fields, and stay out of the Principal Office until I bring help back."
Smiley saluted, and I walked back to the energy barrier. I wasn't sure where I'd end up. Spatial orientation was obviously different within the fields. I closed my eyes, clasped the vidpad tight in my hand, and I stepped back through.
I knew immediately I was not back where I'd left off. I was inside a mineshaft that was lit by electric lights. The tunnel curved around to the right and ran at a steep angle down into the Earth. The vidpad had become a paper map. I folded it up and put it in my pocket. I was still dressed as I had been in the game before, Webley included. I spun the chamber, making sure I was still fully loaded. I set off down the mineshaft, keeping my gun drawn and pointed forward.
I finally came to a large metal bulkhead with three combination wheels sticking out of it in a sideways V. I tapped my gun on the frame. It was more solid than a bank vault. I studied the three combination wheels and thought for a moment. A triple combination lock was impossible to crack. All three wheels had to be spun in a certain sequence. I didn't know that sequence, nor did I know the combinations for each wheel. That's when I remembered something interesting: combination locks could be reset and rekeyed to a new combination using a master code.
I had to reach back in my memory to when I was still just a kid. I had been reading about Richard Feynman, and how he'd taught himself to pick locks for fun while he was working on the Manhattan Project at Los Alamos. Resetting a combination usually caused the lock to release until a new combination was spun in. It was a necessary trick locksmiths incorporated into their designs because high-end clients like banks and the government needed to change codes almost daily. Spinning each dial in the same master code, regardless of sequence, would effectively be the same as unlocking the door.
"What could it be?" I asked myself aloud.
Since this was a game inspired by a Jules Verne character, I tried Verne's birthdate backwards and forwards and got nothing. I was getting frustrated. That's when I remembered Feynman's number one rule: the simplest explanation is usually the right one. I was overthinking this. What was the easiest, most convenient means of resetting a combination? I spun the dials three times counterclockwise, stopping on 0 each time. Nothing happened. Feeling defeated again I kicked the door, stubbing my toe. That's when I tried it again, repeating the process, only clockwise this time.
I heard a metallic clang inside the door. It slid down into the floor with a hiss of hydraulic pressure. On the other side was the same tunnel continuing its course down into the planet, but the walls were smooth metal and a metal car sat waiting for me on a set of tracks.
I stepped up to the conveyor and examined it. It was a cage of brass and wood. The driver was meant to stand while operating the controls, a simple arrangement of lever, pedals and switches. I climbed on and found the power switch. Apparently, it was electrical. An instrument panel lit up in front of me. I played with the levers and got the thing moving, first in spasmodic jerks then in a slow descent. After a few minutes of spiraling into the planet's crust I increased the cage's speed to maximum.
It took something like eight minutes to reach the bottom of the shaft. I entered a vast underground cave that had been hollowed out like a groundhog's lair. Large metal scaffolding crisscrossed the cavern and lit the chamber with artificial incandescent bulbs. At the bottom of the cavern I saw a flat floor of grey concrete. The track I was on continued to carry me downwards towards the ground level.
I pulled out the map and inspected it. Even though it was now a paper map, the vidpad seemed to hold all its previous touchscreen functions. I tapped a yellow dot which was close to Mouse's PID icon. The yellow line crossed the system and intersected another dot in a blue zone in the same sector occupied by Welman, Enzo and Ray. That was our escape route. I had to find Mouse and then find the portal. Hopefully getting Mouse back to the real world would restore her to normal.
When the cage reached the bottom of the cave, I put the map away and got out. My first footfalls on the surface were metallic, not stone. I saw several lines of rivets crossing through the center of the metal floor and the uneven level of metal plates. I was standing on a giant iris door! No sooner had I realized this when I was instantly surrounded by an armed team of men who just materialized out of the darkness around me like wraiths. They were dressed like common mining folk, but their customized automatic rifles were as uncommon as a human User in Mainframe.
They took my gun and led me down several flights of metal stairs. They prodded me through a set of double doors and I found myself in an elevator. Two took up positions on either side of me. The elevator took me even further down. When the doors opened I was pushed into a very plush living room. It was cut right out of the rock; the floor was flat, probably poured concrete, and covered with expensive Persian rugs. A tall marble fireplace stood at the head of the room, a giant portrait of some noble lord hanging above it. Statues and fine Victorian furniture filled the space, slightly out of place in the room they were meant to decorate. A giant crystal chandelier hung from above, lighting the place brilliantly.
I heard a chair fall over and I spun around. To my left was a great dining table. Apparently Mouse had been sitting in one of the dinner chairs when I walked in.
"Sawyer!" she gasped. She ran up to me and threw her arms around me. "I could have sworn you were dead!" I held her for a few moments then she pulled back. "How did you survive?"
"I'm tougher than you gave me credit for," I said. "But maybe I should save explanations for later. Where are we?"
"We must be in Robur's lair," Mouse said.
"How did you get here?" I asked.
"After you fell, Robur's flying machine landed on top of the train. They used acid to burn through the cab's roof and stole Tesla's invention. I tried to stop them, but they hit me with some kind of tranquilizer dart and brought me here. I just woke up about five minutes ago. How did you find find it?"
"I found an old abandoned mineshaft not far from where I fell. It was lit with electric lights, so I followed it until I found a secret entrance, and it led me down here. It's some kind of abandoned mining system that breaks into a large underground cave. It looks like they've been using it for a while."
"You're very astute."
A man had entered the room unnoticed by either of us. He stood perfectly erect, wearing a light grey Nehru jacket with a stiff, high collar and matching pants. He had a lion's mane of iron gray hair and a handsome but menacing face. He looked almost like Beethoven; he had a wide forehead and sunken eyes with thick, bushy eyebrows. His lips were turned down in a perpetual frown. His stare was intense and focused, like a surgical instrument. I had the feeling this character was different than any I'd ever seen before.
"The woman I am familiar with," he said. "You, I am not." He approached me slowly, his gaze never wavering. Even thought he spoke perfect English, his powerful voice carried an accent I couldn't place. "I am Robur."
"My name is Kevin Sawyer. I'm familiar with you."
"My reputation is of no consequence," he said. "I want to know how you gained access to my personal rail entrance."
"Found a mineshaft and followed it to the door. I reset the tumblers like I was going to key in a new combination code, and the door unlocked automatically."
"How did you know the master code?"
"It was mostly trial and error," I said, "but the simplest deduction turned out to be the right one. Three turns clockwise to zero reset the tumblers and unlocked the door. It took me about forty-five minutes to figure it out."
There was no change in Robur's face or body language. He continued to stare at me with that cold, analytical gaze. "You are not a government agent," he said simply. "Those buffoons suffer from an acute lack of imagination; they couldn't have deduced the master code so easily. What is your profession, sir?"
"Physicist," I said.
"Hmm. A man of science as well as one of action." He reached into his pocket and drew out my Webley. "It is a shame a man of intelligence aligned himself with the small minds of the American government."
"I was drafted," I said.
He seemed to consider this. He decocked the gun and put it back in his pocket. "I am not a violent man by nature, but my impatience with the shortsightedness of my fellow man has made me quick to anger. However, I am fair. You and the lady will join me."
He led us back to the elevator. We rode upwards, Robur silent and grave, almost like a statue. We stepped out onto a platform. Above us was the giant iris door, immediately below us was a gigantic metal aircraft. It was silvery and reflective, its surface almost a perfect mirror. Its cigar-shaped body resembled the space shuttle, but the nose narrowed to the point of being a needle. It had a high curved tail and long stabilizer wings in the back. I could see no propellers or engines of any kind. Hanging over the vehicle was a giant black flag with a golden sun in the center. It looked like something from the old Buck Rogers serials from the 50's.
"This isn't The Albatross," I said, referring to one of Robur's flying machines from Verne's novel. "And it doesn't resemble The Terror, either."
"It is neither," he said. "The Constellation is my greatest achievement. It is a vehicle which will carry me and a crew of twenty beyond our planet's atmosphere."
"It's a suborbital spacecraft?" I asked.
"It is designed to achieve distances far greater than just low orbit," said Robur. "The Constellation will carry me to the moon, then to the other planets within the solar system and finally out into the vast stellar wilderness beyond."
"I don't see any engines," I said.
"Your Mr. Tesla provided the ship's means of propulsion," said Robur. "Nth metal has finally given me the power to achieve my greatest dream, to conquer the stars."
"Nth metal?"
Robur looked to Mouse then back to me. "I see your companion has withheld certain details from you, although I doubt her masters fully entrusted her with the secret."
He set off again, and we obediently followed.
In another room, somewhere below the The Constellation's hangar, Robur showed us the device Tesla had built for the War Department. It was a metal case one-half feet in height and four feet in length. Robur opened the lid. Inside was a complex arrangement of electrical wiring, diodes, gears and springs. In the center was a piece of machined metal held in a pair mechanical claws.
Robur flipped a switch on the device's case, and it lifted off the table, emitting a barely-audible hum.
"This is Tesla's invention, a device capable of reversing the action of gravity," said Robur.
"How does it work?" I asked.
"The Nth metal core, when charged with an electrical current, effectively mutes gravity's hold upon anything within a localized vicinity. Once enough current is applied, the Nth metal can switch gravity from an attractive force to a repellant one."
"I've never seen anything like this," I said. "Where did the Nth metal come from?"
"Outer space. My own inquiries lead me to believe Nth matter is formed within certain types of stars far heavier and older than our relatively young sun. Sometimes these stars explode, sending their remains across the void where they drift forever, or, in our case, they come crashing to Earth in the form of meteorites."
"What your saying is impossible," Mouse said.
"It's not impossible," I said, lapsing into a nerd rant. "What he's describing is a supernova. It's what happens when a red giant explodes and becomes a white dwarf. At that temperature and pressure, all kinds of exotic matter can form."
"You continue to surprise me, sir," said Robur. "That is extremely rare with me."
"You intend to use the Nth metal device to power your spaceship," I said. "Not to attack the United States?"
"I have no interest in this quaint country besides its vast resources," Robur said. "The fact that I am wanted by the authorities is because I owe no allegiance to any nation or power other than my own conscience and because I do not share my knowledge of powered flight with the rest of the world. For this, I am branded an outlaw and a madman."
Robur pulled out my Webley again, holding it in the palm of his hand. He held it out to me.
"I give you two options," he said, "you may either leave this world with me or remain my prisoners until I depart, at which time you will be released."
"Do you give me your word that you will not attack? That you will only leave and never return?"
"I have grown weary of this world, sir," Robur said. "It no longer holds any interest for me. Your choice?"
I took my gun. We were put back in the great living room where we first met Robur.
When we were alone, Mouse finally said: "He's every bit as nutty as I was told."
"It's sad really," I replied. "He's so out of place here that he has to find another planet to live."
"He's still in possession of government property," Mouse said.
"I don't think that matters now," I said. "You heard him, Robur's on a one way trip out of the solar system. You won't have to worry about him anymore."
"You put an awful lot of trust in him. How do you know he'll keep his word and not attack?"
"The same reason he gave me my gun back." I checked the chamber; it was still loaded. "Sometimes I feel that same way. Now, any bright ideas for getting us out of here?"
"Where would we go?" asked Mouse.
I pulled out the map and checked our location. I zoomed in on the portal nearest to us. "There's a way out of this place," I said. "If we can make it there, we'll be home free."
"Is that a map of Robur's compound?"
"Uh, yea...I picked it up just before I was captured. See this yellow dot here? That's where we need to go."
"It doesn't look very far," Mouse said. "We'll need to open the elevator doors."
I looked around for something to pry the doors open with. I used a sword from a medial suit of armor next to the fireplace. I used the blade to separate the doors then Mouse and I pulled them open. The elevator was no longer working for us; Robur had probably turned it off. Only the empty shaft was left before us.
"This might be a problem," I said.
"Don't sweat it," Mouse said. "Watch this."
She undid her belt, opening the buckle to draw out a fine wire wound inside. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a metal case which sprung open into a grapple hook. Using a fountain pen, cigarette case and lady's powder compact she assembled a small gun and attached the grapple to the barrel. She ran a small hose from the butt of the pistol into her boot heel, which popped open into an air pump. She pumped her heel on the floor for a few seconds, building pressure. When she was ready, she fired the grapple up into the shaft. It caught on the metalwork. She gave the line a few tugs to make sure it was secure.
She held on to the end of the cable that was her leather belt and told me to wait until she brought up the elevator. She swung out into the shaft and slowly disappeared as the cable was let out of her belt.
The elevator arrived a few moments later. Mouse had found it at the bottom of the shaft and broken in through the trap door in its ceiling. We rode it up two levels then passed through several corridors undetected, avoiding anybody we saw. Finally, we found a room with a padlock on it. I checked the map; the portal was on the other side.
Mouse took out one of the needles holding up her hair and squeezed some acid onto the lock from the hypodermic tip. It ate through the metal and we went inside. The room was a storage closet of some kind; the portal was hidden behind some metal shelves, a shimmering foam bubble hanging in space. I could see Mainframe on the other side.
"Sawyer, what is that?" Mouse asked.
"It's our exit. It'll take us away from here to someplace safe."
"I don't like the looks of it."
An alarm went off throughout the compound. They'd discovered our escape.
"We need to go now!" I said.
Mouse made up her mind and nodded. I took her hand and we jumped through the portal together.
