Heart of Steam & Rust (Empires of Steam and Rust) Read online

  Stephen D. Sullivan

  Novels & Collections

  The Crimson Collection

  Martian Knights & Other Tales

  Luck o’ the Irish

  Zombies, Werewolves, & Unicorns

  Tournament of Death (free online novel)

  Dragonlance

  The Dragon Isles

  The Dying Kingdom

  Warrior’s Heart (Catriona trilogy)

  Warrior’s Blood (Catriona trilogy)

  Warrior’s Bones (Catriona trilogy)

  Legend of the Five Rings

  The Scorpion

  The Phoenix

  The Lion

  Spider Riders

  The Shards of the Oracle

  Quest of the Earthen

  Reign of the Soul Eater

  And more…

  E-Books & Stories

  Elf Princess on Mars (regular or illustrated Elf Erotica editions)

  Kit Chapman Challenger & The Last Ranodon (Steam Nations)

  Ghosts of 9/11

  Monster Shark

  The Candle Goes Dark, But the Light Remains (Crimson)

  Crimson & Dragons (Crimson)

  Crash of the Titans (Crimson)

  Thor Loser (Crimson)

  Snowraven

  Kidnapped by Saurians (Dungeons & Dinosaurs)

  And more…

  Anthologies

  Blue Kingdoms: Mages & Magic

  Uncanny Encounters: Roswell

  Hot & Steamy (steampunk)

  Steampunk’d

  Sol’s Children (sci-fi)

  Lilith Unbound

  And more…

  HEART OF STEAM & RUST

  An Empires of Steam and Rust Story

  Stephen D. Sullivan

  • Walkabout Publishing •

  © 2012 Stephen D. Sullivan

  I worked hard on this book, and I hope you enjoy it! I’m a real person trying to make a living, not some faceless mega-corporation. Your purchase of this book makes it easier for me to write more stories for you to enjoy. So…

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

  *

  Walkabout Publishing

  S.D.Studios

  P.O.Box 151

  Kansasville, WI 53139

  www.walkaboutpublishing.com

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning, or any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author.

  Thanks to my first readers—Kifflie Scott, Vicki Steger, Christine Verstraete, Steve Rouse, and the Alliterates—for their invaluable insights and encouragement.

  Cover art & design © 2012 Stephen D. Sullivan.

  Get a free wallpaper of this and other stories at www.stephendsullivan.com –where you can find out more about me, as well. Thanks!

  *

  CONTENTS

  HEART OF STEAM & RUST

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Samples of Other Stories

  Kit Chapman Challenger & The Last Ranodon

  Automata Futura

  Forever Crimson

  About the Story

  About the Author

  Alternate Cover

  *

  HEART OF STEAM & RUST

  An Empires of Steam and Rust Story

  Stephen D. Sullivan

  Audio Report on Recovery of Captain Pavlina Ivanova, Russian Security Forces

  Interrogator: Poruchik (Lieutenant) Vasily Yakov

  Location: Fifth Section facility - medical building, Moscow

  Top Secret — Royal Family & Top Advisers Only

  What’s the last thing you remember?

  “Waking up on an operating table. Somewhere moving, I think—maybe a train car or an airship. I assume a train, because of the rhythmic vibrations. I was strapped down. Big, glaring eyes stared at me. Two pairs of eyes … maybe. Then swirling lights and strange sounds. And then I blacked out. When I revived, I was here.”

  No. I mean, what do you remember before that?

  [Captain Ivanova shakes her head.]

  Do you remember being shot?

  “I was shot? Nyet. No, I don’t remember that.”

  [Interrogator Yakov consults the attending physician.]

  Can you tell me who you are?

  “Ivanova. Pavlina Ivanova.” [pause] “Captain Pavlina Viktorovna Ivanova.”

  Very good. Do you know where you are, Captain?

  “I’m not sure.” [pause] “A hospital. A secure Third— Fifth Section hospital.”

  Do you remember where you were before you came here?

  “Where I was shot?”

  Yes.

  “It’s unclear … The frontier, I think. Near Prussia?”

  Yes.

  “Hunting spies.”

  Yes. Your … skills had led you there.

  “Yes. My … skills. You’re not cleared to know about them.”

  And you had found a traitor.

  “Yes. I sent the Section a coded message to that effect.”

  Do you remember who it is? Who is the traitor?

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  Perhaps it will come back in time.

  “I’m sure it will. I’m very tired.”

  [Interrogator Yakov consults the attending physician.]

  Yes. You should rest now.

  “How soon will I be able to go home, Poruchik Yakov?”

  So, you remember me.

  “Yes. We’ve met before.”

  Not recently.

  “No. I have a good memory.”

  But not of what happened before you came here.

  “No.”

  That’s … unfortunate.

  “How soon?”

  As soon as you feel well enough, Captain.

  ONE

  The next day, Pavlina Ivanova convinced those attending her that she felt well enough to leave.

  Lina smiled at the people she passed on her way out of the hospital, which was sparsely occupied and seemed outmoded to her. Her recovery room had no phone, no videoscreen, no radio, no newspapers, magazines, or any methods of obtaining current information of any kind. Her bathroom didn’t even have a mirror—just a blank space where one should have hung. Had the gunshot disfigured her somehow? A quick examination of her body—she didn’t dare more, in case she was being watched—revealed nothing shocking, not even a bandage; apparently she’d completely recovered while unconscious. So why no mirror? Why the limited access to the outside world?

  The other rooms she noted as she headed for the main exit looked strangely bare as well. In fact, the whole building seemed more like a huge isolation tank rather than the state-of-the-art facility she would have expected from a government security agency looking after one of its own. Despite her growing apprehension, as she walked, she made small talk with the hospital’s doctors and o
fficials—all members of the Fifth Section—calling each by name:

  “Good to see you again, Doctor Mariyana … I’m feeling much better, Sergeant Dimitriev … Thank you for your concern, Nurse Alexov.”

  She kept nodding, kept smiling, as she walked quickly through the building’s narrow, green-walled corridors, all the while concealing her terrible secret:

  She didn’t remember any of these people. She didn’t know this hospital or this place she’d woken up in at all.

  Nothing here was as it seemed.

  She wasn’t a Captain, though she had been before she’d risen substantially higher within the Russian Security forces. Previous to her interrogation yesterday, she’d never even heard of the Fifth Section. In fact, her name wasn’t even Pavlina Viktorovna Ivanova—it was Pavlina Alexeyevna Ivanova, Colonel of the Russian Special Services, Cryptobiological Procurement & Development Division.

  But she couldn’t allow these people—whoever they were—to know any of that. At best, they would think her mad. At worst … a traitor. And Lina knew very well what happened to traitors in Russia, whatever version of Russia she’d awoken in.

  How did she get here?

  She remembered falling … and cold … deep, bone-chilling cold … and darkness. She’d been on assignment … somewhere, trying to procure new cryptobiological specimens. She’d had an … an accident? Yes. An accident.

  Or something had gone terribly wrong … though she couldn’t remember what.

  That lack of memory disturbed her more than anything else. If Lina Ivanova knew one thing well, it was her own mind.

  Though not now, it seemed.

  The missing memories nagged at her, even as she headed toward the facility’s main entrance. “I’m hoping a return visit will not be necessary anytime soon, Katya,” she told the receptionist.

  The girl returned Lina’s warm smile and wished her a good day. She never suspected a thing.

  Loss of memory: troublesome. Waking in this strange, archaic world? That Lina could cope with.

  She’d heard of alternate worlds, of course. Science had speculated about them for more than a century. Their existence had never been proven, though.

  Ironic that Lina had finally made a scientific discovery she didn’t intend to—one that she didn’t need to out-compete anyone to uncover, one that, at the moment, she could think of no easy way to profit from. Not without getting home.

  That had to be her first order of business: returning home.

  No. Strike that. Her second order of business. Her first had to be keeping these people from discovering the truth about her.

  That shouldn’t prove hard.

  Everyone she’d encountered so far had been easy to scan. Clearly, none were trained to resist mind reading.

  Perhaps they’d never even heard of psychic powers here. Their science, at least what she’d seen of it to this point, seemed decades behind that of her world.

  Her world…

  She shook hands with a highly decorated soldier loitering near the front door. “Good to see you again, too, General Markov. No, it was nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure the Section will send someone over to brief you if it’s important to your work. Thank you for your concern.” He had heard she was being released, wanted to see her in person for some reason—she worried him—but she didn’t dare linger to try and ferret out why.

  She needed to get home before she was discovered.

  Lina exited the hospital, pausing briefly at the top of the long marble stairway and taking a deep breath of Moscow’s crisp spring air.

  It didn’t smell right. The air was dirtier here, tainted with soot and the tang of oil fires. Apparently, this archaic world generated more smoke to produce their steam.

  A fat airship buzzed lazily overhead—not a sleek Russian helioship, more like a dirigible or a bloated zeppelin. Certainly a Fifth Section machine—this entire complex was devoted to the bureau, according to the minds she’d read—and probably among the best airships this world had to offer.

  A chill ran down Lina’s spine, and her stomach twisted. She was powerful where she came from, used to certain luxuries, the best her position could offer. Having to live here would be like falling into the middle of a research expedition without proper supplies, like being stranded on a primitive island with no hope of returning to civilization.

  A car—a sleek, black sedan with bulbous curves, like the native airship—waited for her by the curb at the bottom of the steps. A tall, lean man just shy of thirty years old stood beside it, holding open the rear passenger-side door.

  He was dressed in a long, drab service coat with lieutenant’s markings on the shoulders. He smiled when he spotted her. To Lina, his mind was an open book.

  His name was Pyotr Gregorov and he was her, or rather Lina Viktorovna’s, aide. She could see his devotion to her both in his mind and on his handsome face; his eyes practically sparkled as he focused on her.

  As she stepped toward the car, Lina felt for a moment that he wanted to kiss her, but instead, he offered a crisp salute. She returned it.

  “So good to see you again, Captain.”

  “And you, Lieutenant.”

  His emotions swirled: joy, nervousness, a pang at her injury. Would he have died, too, from grief, if she had perished from the gunshot? The vast emptiness of life without her stretched out before him. For a moment, the bleak scenario flashed through his mind. Then he refocused: Business, must keep it business.

  She found his thoughts almost … embarrassing.

  “Shall I drive you to your apartments, Captain?”

  “Yes please … Pyotr.”

  She felt his delight as she spoke his name, a sweet sensation that he had feared he would never experience again.

  She paused at the door, let her hand brush his; his skin felt warm, nearly sweating. The touch thrilled him.

  How easily she fooled this man!

  Briefly, Lina gazed at herself in the polished black paint of the car’s door. She’d not dared to ask for a mirror in her ward room. Nor had she risked searching for one during her hasty exit. Now, free of the secret facility’s confinement, she snatched a glimpse.

  She felt only mild surprise that her dark reflection looked familiar. As near as she could tell, this Lina Viktorovna was a dead ringer for her: a doppelganger. Good. That should make it easier for her to adjust, to fool people.

  Lina settled herself into the back seat of the car. The seats were upholstered in white leather, comfortable for sitting … or even reclining, she imagined. The car was fitted out in leather and chrome and polished wood, like an early Rolls Royce, but an emblem on the dash proclaimed it an “Orlovich”—apparently a good quality Russian imitation. Pyotr slid into the driver’s seat, seeming happy that things were back to normal.

  If only he knew!

  “Before you take me home,” she said to him, “I would like to stop for a newspaper. I imagine I’ve missed quite a lot.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I anticipated that, Captain, and had the latest edition delivered to your apartments this morning. I also asked the bureau to prepare a summary of news events since you were shot. I also scheduled a Section briefing for you tomorrow morning, just to catch you up.”

  “Not too early, I hope,” she said, languidly running her fingertips over the upholstery and settling herself in.

  She felt another tiny thrill shoot through him as he watched her in the rearview mirror. “10:30 AM. I know your preferences, Captain.”

  “Well done … Lieutenant.” And just to titillate him further, she flashed him a very warm smile.

  TWO

  Her apartments lay on the third floor of a long housing complex constructed in Late Imperial Style with plenty of windows, arches, and even a few columns. She accepted Pyotr’s offer to accompany her to her door—the better to read his mind and gain more insights into her situation—and they silently rode the elevator up to her place.

  She got the impression that he wanted so
mething to happen at her flat—something romantic—but nothing had to date. So far as she could tell, his love for his Lina had never been reciprocated.

  A woman opened the door to her apartment—Anna, her maidservant, Lina gleaned from reading Pyotr. Anna was nearly as glad to see Lina alive as Pyotr had been. Yet, Lina also caught a vague current of unease beneath the joy—similar to what she’d felt from General Markov earlier. Anna loved her mistress, but feared her as well.

  The girl felt especially uneasy about whatever Lina kept in the closet off of the master bedroom. Anna didn’t know what lay behind that locked door, but she suspected nothing good. Though she knew Lina worked for Russian security—the maid needed clearance just to work in this building—the girl had no clear idea of exactly for which organization her boss worked.

  That was fine with Anna; there were many secrets in Russia, after all. But something about the locked door was not fine.

  Lina made a mental note to check behind that door as soon as possible.

  Her rooms faced northeast, toward the Moskva River, though her view was partially obstructed by intervening buildings. Imperial-style furniture filled the apartment tastefully—not too few, not too many—and every chamber was neat and clean. Lina approved, though the accommodations were not as nice as those she enjoyed back home.

  Another reason to return to her world as soon as possible.

  Pyotr became somewhat nervous after they entered, so she dismissed him. She still had a lot to figure out, and didn’t want to be distracted by psychic emanations of puppy love.

  “Is there anything you need, Miss?” Anna asked.

  “A bath. I’ll draw it myself. Did they bring the newspaper?”

  “This morning’s. And a parcel for you, as well.”

  “Set them both on my bed. Then go about your business.”

  The girl curtsied. “Yes, Miss.”

  Lina breezed through the bedroom, heading for the master bath, not wanting Anna to guess she’d never been in either one before.

  The bedroom was a large, bright chamber with gold-trimmed white walls, featuring yet more tasteful imperial furnishings and a big plush bed with frilly pink satin sheets. The bed was more luxurious than Lina preferred, but she supposed it would do. Apparently her counterpart liked creature comforts more than she.

  Not that Lina didn’t appreciate the finer things in life, but becoming accustomed to such frivolities was a sign of a weak mind. Though her apartments back home were nicer than these, her taste in furnishings leaned toward Scandinavian simplicity.