From Chapter Two -- for Tim
You find yourself lying on a steel grate, and there's probably a wrench beneath your back. Not comfortable.
Looking up is a seemingly endless tangle of pipes, wires, cables, clanking and rotating gears, and pumping pistons. The entire place looks like some Victorian/steam-punk designer's wet dream. There's a ladder nearby, not far from where you're lying, leading up into a maze of tubing.
Below is more tubing ... to the point where no floors or walls are in sight. After climbing to your feet, you find that it was, in fact, a wrench beneath you. A sizable one, too. The grate is some suspended pathway, hanging from various of the pipes, and with other support cables extending up into darkness. Light is shed by a lantern hanging not far overhead, and the grate pathway extends in two directions, as well as the ladder continuing down.
"Tim!" a distant voice roars. "Is that valve sealed yet?"
"Uh...." Tim takes a moment to come to the realization of where he is. Where is he? Where the hell is the floor, for that matter - or more pointedly, how far away is it?
Finding no answers - and someone else waiting on one - he calls back. "Uh... not yet?"
Valve. There's a ton of pipes here, there should be at least ONE valve nearby. Right?
Looking closely, only one is immediately visible. It's pretty big, solid red, steel, and could be reached from the walkway. A tiny jet of steam escapes from the side of the valve in a continual, lazy plume.
"Well hurry it up!" the distant voice shouts from ... above? It seems like above. "Three full rotations clockwise, and then hurry back up here! We're about to restart the anabaric siphon."
"I'm on it," Tim calls back up, grabbing the wrench before heading over to close the valve as indicated.
Anabaric? he wonders briefly. Something to do with low pressure? Low pressure what?
The valve turns, at first reluctantly, but then a bit more easily, and the plume of escaping steam vanishes at the end of the third rotation. A notch is made into the otherwise circular handle to indicate where rotation began, so it's simple enough.
"Good!" the distant voice booms. "Worthington, I need the shutters secured -- Smith, tell me what boiler pressure is at!"
Ringing through the machinery at odd angles, 'Worthington' says, "Done, Sir!"
"Pressure's two degrees shy of red, Sir!" the more anxious Smith adds.
Job finished, Tim heads for the ladder, scaling it quickly to join the other voices he can hear above. Two degrees short of red doesn't sound good, whatever it is.
After scaling the ladder, it becomes dark -- but only for a bit. The lantern below provides a sphere of illumination, and before it vanishes from range, another appears overhead, swinging slowly back and forth.
At the top of the ladder is another mesh grating to stand on, much wider than the last. Paths wind in all directions, crazily, though the tangle of tubes and machinery. A large brass control panel covered with switches, dials, and pressure gauges. Before it stands a man of average height, with a width equal to that. He's not quite spherical, but he looks like he's working on it.
His right leg is missing below the knee, replaced with an iron stump, and a kind of bowl-shaped foot, slotted to fit into ladders. It's big enough to stand comfortably on the mesh grating, and he shoots a look over his shoulder as Tim comes into sight.
His face is smudged with grease, and he's got a full beard of stained red hair. He flashes a grin, and yells, "Smith! Pull the release, and report. Worthington, secure those shutters and check in!"
"Sir!" both reply, one from somewhere behind Tim, another from somewhere beyond the control panel. Sighing, the huge man flips some switches, watches a gauge for a bit, then tightens a valve with a judicious nod.
Very shortly, two other men appear from the direction their voices came from. Both are dressed as Tim is -- work pants, white shirt with no pockets, suspenders, and a tool-belt. Sturdy leather-soled shoes.
The large man is dressed the same, but also wearing a stained white smock. He reaches beneath it and pulls out a large golden chronometer (or at least, that's what it looks like). "Perfect," he announces. "Now, let's get something to eat, and get to rest, eh lads?"
Smith and Worthington nod eagerly, then begin trooping down one of the pathways.
Feels like I'm stuck inside a giant steam engine, Tim thinks wryly.
"Sounds good to me, sir," he replies with a grin. Taking a few moments while the others assemble, he studies the board full of gauges, trying to make some sense of what exactly this place DOES.
The board seems to control and connect multiple systems. The machinery probably helps regulate the piping, automatically opening and closing valves to keep pressure flowing in pulses instead of a constant stream. Then another switching station routs the surges of ... whatever it is they're piping ... through different nodes. The gauges all seem to be winding down, with the exception of the bank furthest to the right.
All of them are labeled, though some of the names seem odd and arcane at first glance. At a guess, 'anabaric' means 'power', to these people, and the gearworks and everything else are designed to pull energy from something. Maybe a subterranean vault? Geothermal energy seems plausible. Most likely it's a power-station of some kind.
"Good," the large man says, before frowning. "Tim, you forgot your lamp." Smith and Worthington troop away, though the reverberations of their footsteps echo. "Just as well," he says with a sigh, undoing his smock, and putting away the golden chronometer. "Fetch it, there's an important matter we should discuss in private anyway."
"Sorry about that, sir, I'll be back with it in just a moment." Tim grimaces a bit, hoping this isn't bad news.
A quick trip down the ladder and back finds the now-mechanically-inclined Tim with lantern in tow, looking towards the round gentleman with a slightly worried expression. "Is anything wrong, sir?"
"Tim," the man says with a sigh, once the top of the ladder is regained. "I have to say, you've learned quite well in your time here, but.... Well, as our contract agreed, this is the last day of your training. Tomorrow we'll have the official recognition, of course. Balmer will present you with your certificate of journeyman status, and your own toolkit. But that also means that we can't keep you on." He hedges, then smiles weakly. "I could keep you on for a week or two, and if we had the money, I'd like to bring you on to stay.... But the funding for that, you know...." He sighs, giving an apologetic shrug.
"Anyway, after the recognition tomorrow, you've a free day. There's a fair in town, so you take your time to think about it, and the day after I'll start you at five shillings a day, though Balmer won't let it last beyond the month, I'm certain."
Tim gives the larger man a weak grin. Always did hate getting laid off, he thinks to himself.
"I understand, sir, and I appreciate all the help you're giving me. I'm sure I'll be able to find something soon."
He claps a meaty paw on Tim's shoulder in response, beaming a bright smile. "That's the spirit! Now, let's have at the shepherd's pie, eh?" With that, he leads a wending path through the crazily sprawling pathway. It's a good seventy to a hundred feet (the path zigs and zags quite a bit, so it's hard to be sure), before Tim and the boss reach something identifiable as a wall.
More of a bulkhead, really. It's thick, it's lined with bolts several inches across, and there's a sealing hatchway -- like a military vessel's access hatches -- before opening up into a more comforting steel room.
It's mostly rectangular, and there's a row of hooks along one wall. Toolbelts are hanging from all of the hooks, along with a few of them sporting smocks. In addition, there's a name plate, and a shoe locker.
The boss stumps his way over to the nameplate reading, 'Foreman Angus Tavner,' and hangs both his smock and toolbelt from that hook. Tim's own hook is almost the farthest away, between the 'Journeyman Leroy Smith' and 'Apprentice Nemo Millhouse' hooks.
Mr. Tavner's hook is the closest to the door, next to the other foreman's hook. Before Tim and Angus can leave, another man enters, followed by two obvious underlings. The new man nods, saying nothing, merely snatching the smock and toolbelt from 'Foreman Warden Donner's hook. The other two are journeymen, too -- no apprentice for their shift, apparently.
Donner's a burly man with rolled-up sleeves on his workshirts, almost as though he wants to show off the burn scars covering them from wrist to elbow. His face is free of hair, but that, too, is a product of scarring, not shaving.
"Oh," Angus says, nodding at Donner. "The crank shaft for drive three is wobbling a bit -- I'd keep an eye on it, if I were you. We left the tanks and shutters sealed at two degrees short of red. Unless the Council decides to do something stupid, you should have a few hours to inspect before there'll be a need to bring it into play."
Donner nods back wordlessly, one half of his mouth (the left) twitching in what could be a smile.
"Thank you, Master Tavner," both of the journeymen say, nodding respectfully to the bearded man.
"Right," Angus says. "Tomorrow, lads." Then he gestures Tim to follow him through another submarine-appropriate portal, which opens into a long steel corridor, the doorway being at the head of a 'T' intersection. He immediately turns right, his stump clanging against the floor rhythmically as he marches.
Tim follows along, figuring that if they're off-shift the foreman will be headed out himself. Unless everyone lives on this site as well, which... well, there's no way to know whether it's reasonable or not. Having a second shift tends to make him think not, but getting lost in a maze of corridors doesn't sound like too much fun at the moment.
Better question is "Where's home", though, he thinks to himself with a slight frown.
Angus leads Tim down a few hallways to a larger room that seems to serve as a mess hall. Smith and Worthington are already at one of the two long tables, and have put settings at the table for Tim and Angus.
The two are chatting about something -- the ratio of a gear system, and it's output, it sounds like, but break off when Angus appears.
"Boss," one of them says with a nod, before indicating the pair of trays sitting next to each of the two.
The trays are identical, each bearing two plates and a mug (currently empty and upside-down). The larger, central plate has a steaming shepherd's pie on it, and the smaller has what looks like a potato with a bit of butter and some chives. Between the trays are a pair of capped pitchers, one red, one silver.
"Thanks," Angus says, taking a chair before the closer of the trays, and filling his mug from the red pitcher (looks like it might be wine). "You lads have plans for the fair, tomorrow?"
One of the two blushes faintly, and says, "Oh, well.... Miss Machree," before trailing off with a lame grin.
The other snorts and shakes his head, pouring from the silver pitcher into Tim's mug without being asked -- looks like milk. "Smith, if you don't tell her how you feel, or even have the decency to ask her for a dance, nothing can happen, can it?"
"Oh.... Shove off," Smith grumbles.
Worthington smirks, then turns a glance at Tim. "How about you? And Catherine?"
Angus snorts, taking his knife and cutting into the shepherd's pie. "Be nice," he admonishes with mock gruffness.
"I hadn't planned anything, no," Tim replies with a slight blush, taking a drink from the mug to cover his embarrassment.
This should be interesting. A girlfriend to boot. How the hell am I supposed to keep this hidden from someone that knows this 'Tim' well?
Not offering any further comment, he takes his knife and gets himself a slice of pie as well, merely keeping his ears open for the moment as he tucks in.
Lamb and carrots, peas, and ... squash? In a rich dark gravy. Not bad, actually. The mug is milk, with something added too it -- tastes a bit like horchata. It's warm, sweet, and the slight spiciness of the gravy is neatly countered.
"Well," says Smith, starting to regain his composure, "why don't we both go to a florist, then? Miss Machree...." He trails off with a smile, before Worthington clears his throat loudly.
"You're forgetting," he says mildly, "that Tim here is going to be finishing his apprenticeship soon, aren't you?"
Angus grunts at that, nodding.
Smith frowns. "Well, we'll have to make sure your recognition speech is complete. No wonder you've had no time for Catherine!"
Angus gives a sour grimace. "I hate speeches," he grumbles. "Master Foster insists, though. Don't worry lad. I'm sure my own speech will be terrible enough to make yours shine like a brass work in an ironwork."
"Still," Worthington says around a mouthful of potato, "what's your topic going to be?"
"Commitment," Angus says, causing Smith to almost choke on his wine. "You, Tim?"
Tim doesn't quite manage to stifle a groan. "I'm not even sure," he replies, shaking his head. "Why do I need to give a speech anyway?"
"I don't think there's any kind of justification," Angus sighs. "Just focus on what you've learned. It'll be fine -- and I'm sure my own speech will be so terrible you could recite the dinner menu and get a commendation. Smith, what was your speech about?"
Smith looks hurt. "You were there!" he complains. "I did the three integrities -- valor, dedication, reaffirmation. What about you, Worthington?"
"Choked," Worthington says, coloring. "I meant to recite the passage from the gate technician's manual on exploration, and all I could think of was some stupid story about my aunt's farm, when I was working as a shepherd." He glances at his pie, and adds, "This is better fare, by the by."
Angus snorts. "Don't worry about it too much," he advises.
"Maybe I can do something on attention to detail," Tim replies, shaking his head. Certainly something I'm going to have to do until I figure out what exactly I need to do here.
Angus wilts slightly. "Guess I'll need a new topic, then," he says with a sigh.
Smith and Worthington snicker, and Angus lets a smile show that he was kidding. But by then, dinner is finished. Smith and Worthington gather their trays and the pitchers, then place them by a sink.
"Well," Angus says, climbing to his feet and checking his chronometer. "Don't stay up too late, lads. Busy day tomorrow, what?" With that, he puts up his own dishes, stumps through one of the room's two doors, and turns left down a hallway.
Smith nods absently, while Worthington turns back to Tim and asks, "Join us for a few rounds of cards before you call it a night?"
"Wouldn't mind talking for a while, but I'm not really in the mood for cards," Tim replies.
"Alright," Smith says, leading the way. He turns right, down the hallway. Looking back, the corridors here are metal on the side with the cafeteria, and wooden on the opposite side. The ceiling is wooden, too, and light is provided by what looks like light-bulbs -- large florescent tubes, to be precise. Steel doors along what must be some interior wall, and wooden ones along the exterior.
It's not far down the corridor before a door marked (with a large plaque), 'Journeymen Quarters'. Further down the hallway is an equally obvious plaque reading 'Apprentice Quarters'. Huzzah for labeling!
The door isn't locked; Worthington opens it up and steps inside.
This room is actually pretty nice. A one-color carpet covers everything but the floor immediately by the walls (brown, on closer inspection), and there's two pieces of furniture that probably have some Victorian-era name, but are essentially couches. A coffee-table with a tea-service sits between them, and beyond that is a bay window that stretches from about waist level (just above the bench set inside the window) all the way to the ceiling.
There's a city out there, and at a guess, Tim would place this room about seventy or so feet above it. It's dark, but there are lights shining through the night. Another door from this room leads to one side, presumably where the beds are.
A table has a few books stacked on it, along with a lantern that's not currently lit. The electrical light here is a circular florescent tube set inside a simple chandelier. Swanky.
Worthington settles himself on a couch and sighs in contentment, while Smith rifles through a drawer hidden in the bottom of the table to produce a deck of cards. That gets set on the coffee-table while he sits opposite Worthington.
"What did you want to talk about?" Smith asks. "You need help with your speech?"
"Or Catherine?" Worthington adds with a smirk.
Tim shoots Worthington a dark look. "The speech, yes," he replies, muttering a bit under his breath. "I just hate the idea of talking in front of other people for the sake of talking."
"But Master Balmer loves talking," Smith says with a cautious glance at the door to the hallway. "And if you have to make a speech, then so does he. So don't worry or try too hard -- if your speech is better than him, he'll just become vexed, anyway."
"I find stuttering helps," Worthington supplies, shuffling the cards and dealing enough for himself and Smith to begin a round of ... looks like poker. No gambling, just playing for the fun of it.
"I don't know about stuttering, but I think I can manage nervous," he says wryly, settling down to watch the hand play out - if it IS poker, he might as well try a hand or two.
The game is, in fact, poker. Mostly. There's a few variations, such as the suits. There are two red, and two black, but instead of diamonds and hearts there's hexes and hammers. Instead of clubs and spades there are spades and coins. In addition, they have some funny rules on winning hands -- Smith wins the first one with 'king of the forest', which is a straight that has only every other consecutive card in a straight. Worthington almost wins with a 'half-flush', which is all black cards, but that hand doesn't beat much of anything, especially not Smith's genuine flush.
Smith is pretty good, Worthington is outright horrid. It doesn't take long to figure out that his skill is probably the primary factor in no actual money being exchanged. After a few hands, there's a knock at the door.
Without looking up from dealing (it's his turn) Smith calls, "Come in!"
A tiny, nervous looking bespectacled man creaks the door open and leans in. "Sirs?" he squeaks. "I had thought you might.... I mean.... There was...."
"Have a seat, Millhouse," Worthington says without looking up. "I could use someone to make me feel like I'm not the only one losing here."
Ducking his head, Nemo (if Tim's memory of the names in the locker room is correct) joins the game.
"Go ahead and deal me in this hand," Tim replies, moving up closer to the table. "Suppose one or two won't hurt."
"Not until one or two becomes seven or eight," Worthington says with a chuckle. "When's your next shift, Nemo?"
The game is 5-card draw (or close enough). Tim is dealt a 4, 7, 8 of hexes, a duke of spades (the same as a jack), and a Maestro of coins (the same as an ace) for the initial deal.
"After the fair," Nemo replies, looking at his cards and wincing. "I just finished -- they had me working in the dungeons."
"Ouch," Smith says sympathetically, motioning for Tim to make the first discard.
Tim frowns slightly at his cards, placing the duke and the maestro face down on the table. "At least you've got a break for a while after that."
Smith deals Tim a 2 of hexes, and a 7 of hammers.
Nemo nods. "It'll be another four months before my next assessment," he says, somewhat sadly. Brightening, he asks, "How did you do on yours?" He tosses three cards on the table.
"You'll do better next time," Worthington assures him absently, discarding one card.
Smith seems to be happy with his hand, and calls for a reveal. "And Tim here is getting his recognition tomorrow," he adds.
Final tally puts Tim as the winner of that hand (and dealer for the next). Smith had third, with a king-of-the-forest, Nemo had nothing (looks like he was trying for a straight), and Worthington has a pair -- looks like he was trying for a flush.
Tim proceeds to deal the next hand, shaking his head slightly. "So what ARE you guys planning for the fair tomorrow?"
"Well, no longer being apprentices," Worthington says with a waggle of his eyebrows, "Smith and I were going to go to Sorus's place across the square. Once we finish watching the speeches, and catch whatever the King says, it's time for a few drinks, eh?"
"You're welcome to join us," Smith adds, frowning at his hand.
Nemo grimaces at his cards, stifling a yawn. "I'm going to go to the Military Academy. They have some open doors for the fair. Now that the Greater Council has decided that Starflare isn't coming back, they've been taking on journeymen to restaff the sky-yards."
"Him, in a military cap?" Smith asks, squinting.
"Machinist!" Nemo protests, almost dropping his cards. "I wouldn't fight!"
"I could see it," Worthington says calmly. "But you've got months before recognition, anyway."
"I know," Nemo admits, somewhat sadly.
"Mmm, might be worth checking out myself then," Tim replies, looking thoughtful. "Couple of drinks afterwards wouldn't go amiss, either."
"After you see Catherine," Smith adds in a slightly teasing tone.
After that, it's relaxed, casual banter -- Tim finds it simple to fit in, despite the fact that the machinists seem to have a tightly-knit social group. It's only another five or six hands before Nemo begins to nod off to sleep. After he actually drops his cards, he excuses himself and says he needs to rest before the fair; Smith and Worthington agree.
Then Tim follows Nemo back to the apprentice's quarters, which are a ruder version of the journeymen quarters. The window is clean, and the same height, but isn't a bay window. The couches are replaced with comfortable looking chairs, and a door leads to a bunk room.
The bunk room contains two bunk-beds, for a total of four mattresses. One of them has someone in it, snoring softly. Two are neatly made up -- looks like Tim gets a bunk to himself by the placement of the plaque. Nemo's bunk is above the snorer. Curtains pull around the beds for a tiny bit of privacy, and light comes from a long florescent-looking tube.
Through the bunk room is another door, leading to (thankfully) a reasonably modern-looking bathroom, with attached shower room. In addition, there's a locker at the foot of Tim's bunk that also has his name on it -- a pair of lockers by Nemo and (nametags are so handy!) Otto's trunks presumably contain their own clothing.
Nemo quickly changes from his work clothes into a sleeping outfit, which is little more than a robe. Tim finds a key for his own trunk in one pocket, and while the contents would take some time to look through (and probably deserve the investigation), he finds an identical garment inside. Also in the room is an unlabeled laundry basket, which Nemo tosses his work clothes into without a backwards glance.
The contents of the trunk bear investigation... but so does sleep. Hopefully a clear head after a night of rest will help in sorting out what's in the trunk in the morning.
Morning arrives with a chiming sound, followed by the somewhat less melodious screech of a steam-whistle. Nemo and Otto grumble and fall out of bed, milling around for a moment before it's decided that Otto goes to the washroom first. So Nemo is brushing his teeth while Otto showers.
This gives Tim a few minutes to actually look through the trunk, which helps. Inside are a few changes of clothes -- most outfits like the one worn yesterday. There's a pair of nicer outfits, too, one with a proper suit, a blue vest ... it seems to even be in good condition for being folded in a trunk instead of hanging. The other one is much the same, but has a gold vest, is of much higher quality, and has some emblem on the back and over the breast on the right side -- this one was wrapped in a linen bundle, and inside that is a sheathed dagger with the same emblem on the hilt.
A falcon grasping a wrench in one hand, and a hammer in the other. The scabbard is worked steel, etched with gold tracings and with two rubies set in it. When drawn, the blade has any number of complex gold tracings inlaid within, and seems to be superbly balanced.
Further in the trunk is a man-purse (satchel!) with some basic tools, well worn but still functional -- though not nearly as nice as the ones left hanging in the locker room. Also, a tiny purse with sixteen heavy six-sided copper coins, and four cut sections of the same coins. As though the coins were prepared to be cut, there's a small logo (perhaps the national symbol?) of a wrench near each face, and a section of impressed lines connecting each point to the opposite one. Looks like breaking coins for change may be easier than anticipated....
In the very bottom of the trunk, is a bundle of letters: "From Agatha," and "From Margret," and finally, "From Catherine", all of them to Tim. Beside that is a cloth bag with about fifty smaller gold coins of identical design to the copper ones, and a linen-wrapped ring sized to Tim's finger, bearing a massive ruby with the same falcon-with-hammer cut into the gem, and filled with gold. It looks magnificent, and at a guess is something far nicer than an apprentice should have.
Another glance shows that the same ring -- or an identical one -- sealed each of the letters from the girls. The sound of Nemo and Otto finishing up alerts Tim before either of them spot his possessions.
Leaving the rest of the contents of the trunk where they are, Tim extracts the letter from Catherine and takes a look at it - if he's going to wind up meeting this girl today, knowing something about her first would be helpful.
The sound of his bunkmates emerging from the bathroom prompts a hasty closing of the trunk, however - it DOES seem pretty odd for a simple apprentice to have most of that, so keeping it secret seems the best plan.
The handwriting is very feminine, but seems oddly familiar. Still, the contents of the letter itself portray this Catherine as a painfully vapid woman who loves nothing so much as flowers -- she asks if Tim will bring her blue ones, or yellow, the next time you meet at the fair.
Then she comments about meeting Nemo at the last fair, and asks if Tim is looking after him. A few questions about the status of Tim's apprenticeship, and if he intends to join the military Academy afterwards. Presumably, a reply has already been written, but there's no convenient carbon copy to check out....
The final line is a reminder to get the flowers, though she leaves the choice of color to Tim.
Tim frowns slightly, folding up the letter and setting it aside as he reviews the papers he received the day before from Master Tavner. Probably relating to the completion of his apprenticeship, but it's as well to be sure.
Tavner's papers are notices about the recognition, where Tim will be recognized as a journeyman, along with some suggestions on speech topics, and proper etiquette. After that is a contract offering a week of work at the journeyman rate.
Nemo emerges from the shower bleary-eyed, but dressed in a nice suit. Better than his work clothes, not quite as nice as the less impressive of Tim's own 'nice' clothing. "What time is your recognition?" he asks, while digging through his trunk for a satchel.
According to the papers, the recognition will be at fourteen bells.
"Fourteen bells," Tim replies, folding up the papers and slipping them into his trunk. Taking his cue from Nemo, he pulls out his less-nice suit and heads to the washroom to clean up and get ready.
That done, he emerges. "Now I need to find a florist..." he mutters to himself. "You ready to go?" he asks the other apprentice.
Nemo spends a moment comparing his outfit to Tim's, but then shrugs. "Sure," he says, turning to his trunk. "Have you saved anything?" He pulls a purse with four of those copper coins, and about eight pieces of others. "I expect a good bouquet to cost at least four bits. Shouldn't be a full shilling unless you go some place very nice, or you're going to give her Imperial Fire Roses." He pauses, glancing sidelong at Tim. "Are you?"
Tim extracts his purse from the trunk with a wry grin - his sixteen shillings should probably provide a fair amount of entertainment for the day, unless flowers wind up being far cheaper than their counterpart from home. "I don't think so, but who knows what we'll find? Anyway, let's get going."
"Right," Nemo says. Otto has already left while Tim was washing up.
The young Millhouse apprentice leads Tim down the hall outside of the apprentice's dorms, though going further away from the locker room. After a short distance, the pair reaches an elevator. It's pretty unmistakable in form and function, though it has a collapsing screen instead of a proper solid wall to keep people from walking out while it's in movement.
A glance at the control panel and the floor indicator (a large dial, of course), shows that this floor will be easy to find: it's the top one.
Nemo turns a dial to the right of the entrance until it reads '0', then pulls the lever beside it. Then, the elevator zooms down swiftly and smoothly, coming to a halt in a crowded area lined with thick stone supports, and unopened crates. Unconcerned with the boxes, Nemo opens the door and beelines towards what looks like daylight outlining an exit at the top of a half-flight of stairs.
Tim doesn't waste a lot of time either, although he does take a moment to glance at the boxes for any clue of their contents as he heads out to what presumably is the street outside.
The boxes are labeled with papers that have been nailed in place. All of them contain spare parts of some sort or another. Atop the stairs, Nemo steps through the doorway into daylight, and Tim follows.
In a rush, the environment changes from closed, dim, and quiet, to boisterous, bright, and loud. It takes a moment for Tim's eyes to adjust; there are people milling around on the street, most of them dressed reasonably nicely, a great number of the women waving fans in the air, and a number of the men waving their hats.
Nemo squints, then turns around and looks up. Following his gaze, Tim sees that the tower he is in really does tower over the rest of the buildings around -- it's got to be nearly forty stories tall, compared to the next nearest, at six. The tower itself appears to be made of brass, and is larger at the top than the base -- extending halfway across the street.
A short distance up the way from the base of the tower -- perhaps the fourth floor? It doesn't have windows, until the very top -- is a balcony, and a rounded man is shouting into a megaphone: "...prentices released to enjoy the day, and celebrate with the city!" A cheer comes up from the street, and even Nemo waves his hat in appreciation. "So all are released, and are under no order to reconvene until the thirteenth bell!"
Another, much louder, cheer erupts at this. "Hear it for Master Balmer!" he cries out.
Glancing around, as the crowd begins to stream away from the tower, Tim can see that the immediately neighboring buildings are shops, with the exception of what looks like a police station -- judging by the police-looking man standing out front, and the pair leaving through the door, glancing at the tower before merging into the crowd.
None of the near shops look like florists.
Deciding to simply go, Tim heads down the street in the direction of the police station, leaving Nemo to do as he will and keeping his eyes peeled for anyone selling flowers.
Just as well, Nemo quickly vanishes beneath the level of the crowd anyway. Shortly past the police station, banners of colorful paper have been strung between opposite buildings, and confetti is being flung around liberally. Not much further down the street is an open park area, where people appear to be congregating. There's a number of stalls set up in the streets closer to the park, which block the view much further -- but one of them is indeed a florist.
People aren't packed in, but movement is slow through the number. Distantly, music can be heard escaping from somewhere -- sounds like a stringed instrument and an accordion, along with some sort of flute. Someone's singing, too, louder as Tim gets nearer the florist's.
The florist is a heavy woman of middle years wearing a bonnet and an apron over her standard (somewhat frumpy) brown white gown. She gives Tim a smile as he approaches the barrels filled with various types of flowers (roses, lilies, daffodils ... they all look like standard flowers to Tim, with the exception of a handful of deep purple flowers in the back, floating in a brass basin. The woman finishes a transaction with another young man who just purchased a bouquet of yellow roses (seven bits), when she turns to Tim. "And how can I help you today, young sir?" she asks.
"Looking for a bouquet for my lady," Tim replies with a smile. "She's fond of blue - anything you'd recommend?"
The woman behind the counter scrutinizes Tim for a moment, and then says, "How about these?" indicating a barrel marked 'Windflower'. The flowers look delicate, papery, but are vibrantly colored. "A full bouquet, only five bits," she adds.
Tim nods, quickly gathering a bouquet of the almost wildflower-like blooms. A few artfully-placed sprays of Queen Anne's lace - here as "moonruff" - and fern complete the bouquet to Tim's satisfaction, and he nods.
"I think this will do," he says. "Will a shilling be enough?" So saying, he extracts an unbroken coin from his purse.
"That's just fine, dearie," the woman behind the counter replies, placing it in a bin or drawer beneath the table displaying her flowers. Tim hands the coin over, just as there's a tap on his shoulder.
Tim turns to face the person looking to get his attention, raising an eyebrow in the process.
It's a young lady (a very pretty one, in fact), wearing a pale green dress of indeterminate quality (seems nice enough, at least). Her brown hair is done up in a braid with a blue ribbon through it, and falls to about her hips, and she's wearing a white hat that shades her face -- though she's close enough that Tim can see her blue eyes and devious smirk. "Timothy," she says with a sudden chuckle, "I found you so soon!"
"Oh," the flower-seller remarks, before continuing in a low whisper, "she's a lovely one, there, lad. Sure you wouldn't want an Imperial Fire Rose?"
"Come, let's go to the park," the young lady says, hefting a picnic basket.
Tim puts on his best attempt at a winning smile. "I was just about to come looking for you myself," he replies, offering his elbow as the two make their way away from the flower stand. "I hope I haven't kept you looking for long."
"Of course not," she replies in a quiet voice. She takes Tim's elbow, and directs him carefully -- but not towards the near park. Instead, she angles down the street, where the crowd is thinner. "Anyway. You must tell me about your apprenticeship. How are you doing?"
"Good news and bad news," Tim replies with a slight frown. "Good news is that I've finished my apprenticeship. Bad news is that they can only keep me on for another week, so I'm going to have to look for another job."
"That sounds entirely for the better," she replies, as another park comes into view, this one smaller and less crowded. Pitching her voice low, she asks, "Have you heard the news? Of Dr. Shuker's release from the asylum?"
Tim shakes his head, although the name Shuker doesn't escape his notice. "No, I haven't heard much news at all in the past couple of days. Is he all right?"
The girl flashes Tim a smile. "I haven't had a chance to see him yet, obviously. But if he has been freed, then I want to go to him, to see if...." She trails off, spots of color in her cheeks. "Well," she says, clearing her throat with a rough cough. "We can end this charade, at least." Then her eyes go to Tim. "You aren't ... you aren't obvious, are you?" she asks in a whisper. "You haven't let anyone find out?"
"I didn't think you would have," Tim replies quickly. "I was more curious if you had any further news of him past that he was released."
Tim sighs. "And I'm doing my best not to be obvious," he replies, thinking of his own situation as well as the stuff in the trunk back in his quarters. "If they've found out I don't know about it myself, and there's nothing I can do about it if that's the case. But I don't think so."
"I don't know much about it yet," the girl admits, coming to a stop beneath an otherwise abandoned tree in a small park, not far down the road from the tower Tim works at. The park is not quite deserted, but has very few people in it. It's also not much more than a lawn with a few large trees scattered across it -- about half of these trees have people picnicking beneath them.
She produces a sheet from the basket she's carrying, and lays it on the grass. Shortly afterwards, she's unpacking things (mostly cloth wrapped bundles). She continues, "What I do know is that Inspector Holmes and the Aliester Sondheim were behind it. So I think we can assume that Dr. Shuker hasn't become an agent of Hathoway. The important thing, of course, is that either he knows what he's doing, or he doesn't. And in one case, he'll need our help, undoubtedly. In the other, I should like to see him again anyway."
She looks up sharply. "Jam?" she asks, holding up a small parcel of cloth-wrapped scones. "I brought strawberry."
"Yes, thank you," Tim says with a smile.
"I'd like to see him myself if we can arrange it," he goes on after accepting the pastry. "It does sound like we're going to have to try to find out more about his situation before we do try to visit. The question is how, though."
The pastry is pretty fresh, which is good -- nothing worse than a brick-hard dried out scone.
"Neither of us could approach directly if he's being watched," the girl says thoughtfully, slowly. "We'd be recognized -- unless we're willing to flee into his custody, and we've no real guarantee that it's actually safer there right now." She pauses to set two large mugs (with very wide bases -- the better to not tip over on the uneven lawn) down, and then fill them from a bottle. Looks like wine, though it's not labeled. She puts one of the mugs near Tim, then takes a sip.
"If we wanted to that, we'd just have gone to great cousin Aliester." She shrugs at that, then shakes her head. "Never mind that, for now. I'll try to figure something out about that. You don't really even know Dr. Shuker, anyway. Have you been able to discover any proof, though?"
Tim shakes his head. "Not yet," he replies, hoping he's right. "Lately I've been more focused on keeping my head down and making sure no one suspects me of anything." True enough, if not exactly in the way she's thinking.
"Anything new on your side?"
The girl grimaces, shaking her head. "Nothing good, outside of Dr. Shuker's release. I suspect that all of the machinations are the fault of Hathoway, one way or another. And he meets with too many people for me to easily determine which one gave the instructions...." She trails off with a sigh, then sips from her mug. "It is an embittering process, this intrigue. But if you've found nothing with Balmer, perhaps we should seek help."
Fussing with the basket absently, she asks, "Should we try and approach the King? He may be able to launch an inquiry, but...." She trails off again, shaking her head. "No," she sighs. "Of course not. His credibility is ruined with the loss of the Starflare. We'd be nothing more than a liability. Oh, Tim, I just don't know what to do anymore! Dr. Shuker's release should be a return of hope -- but we're still in the same mess!"
Tim considers for a few moments. "What about Inspector Holmes?" he offers. "Maybe he can't help us directly, but trying to get in touch with him for more information about Dr. Shuker might help us learn what kind of condition he's in without directly going to cousin Aliester. You'd be in a better position to find out whether it's safe to go see him, at least."
"That's true," she admits. "I could arrange for a meeting ... but the Inspector is solidly the King's servant, so nothing I tell him would not reach the King's ears -- and so, Aliester's, too." She sighs. "I will send him a note. We should visit him after your recognition, I think."
Changing the subject abruptly, she asks, "How well do your colleagues like you?"
"Well enough," Tim says with a slight smile. "I like Master Tavner quite a bit; he sounded sorry to see me go after my apprenticeship is completed. The other apprentices and journeymen are fun - although I do get some 'advice' about my dates with Catherine," he finishes with a smile.
She rolls her eyes at that last part. "Just as well you're almost done, then," she notes. "Otherwise it would be time for yet another awkward breakup, and yet another girl, hmm? Or is that what you're trying to do?" She giggles, then, serving a piece of chicken from the basket to Tim. "Build up a reputation as quite the lady's man?"
"It can't hurt, can it?" Tim replies with a half-grin. "If I'm known for having a succession of good-looking girlfriends, maybe the trend will stick around?"
"Scoundrel," she accuses with a smirk she can't quite hide. Then she looks curious. "Have you chosen a speech for your recognition?"
"I was thinking of talking about attention to detail, although poor Master Tavner said he'd have to change his topic if I did that. I'm not really sure what else to speak on, though."
She looks sympathetic. "You've never really had the knack for public speaking," she says. "Shall I write something for you?"
"I think I can manage as long as they don't expect to keep me going on about it for very long," Tim replies, shaking his head. "I think I'll be okay, though."
"Maybe you'll be lucky, and there will be a distraction," she says, shaking her head. Still." She drops her voice after a cautious glance around. "Wouldn't it be nice to dress in your own clothes, with your own last name? Personally, I can't abide simply being 'Madeline', when I don't have to be 'Catherine', or...." She sighs. "I'm tired of hiding," she mutters petulantly.
"It definitely would," Tim replies ruefully, although it's not the suit in his trunk back at the apprentice quarters on his mind. "It won't be forever, though, I'm sure of it - there'll be a time before too long when we won't have to hide anymore."
What exactly AM I hiding, though? Aside from a name and a fancy suit? he wonders.
"Well, we shouldn't dally too much longer," the girl sighs. Which of those names was really hers, if any of them were, anyway? "But thank you for spending time with me. It's reassuring to know that at least I'm not alone." She finishes packing up the remains of the meal, except for what Tim keeps.
"I'll post a note to the Inspector as you suggested; in the meantime, I'll see you at the agreed place after you're released. Otherwise, I'll mail you ... or the Inspector himself will come to see you, I suppose. If anything goes wrong, I'll find my way to you, as I always have." She gives a weak smile.
"I'm sure nothing will go wrong," Tim says, putting on a smile for the girl. "I'll see you later, then - and thanks for the scones."
Polishing off the last of his drink, he gets to his feet, helping her up before dusting the crumbs off his lap.
"Of course," she says with a smirk. "Now, take care of yourself, Brother." And after that, she packs up the picnic and leaves, tossing a smile back over her shoulder before vanishing into the streets.
Nearby, it looks like a parade is going through. A marching band, followed by a number of smartly dressed (though, unarmed) men in military-looking garb. The military colors look to be blue and white, with dashes of yellow thrown in for the knots at their shoulders and their insignia.
Tim slips into the crowd, deciding to enjoy the fair until it's time to reassemble at the tower.
Tim does wander the fair enjoying the sights. The marvels of the age -- a box that plays music when wound (pinging strips of tin), jugglers, acrobats, sidewalk chalk artists.... It's all pretty mellow and amiable, and there's a good deal of food being carted around at ungood prices. Rather a lot of alcohol, too. About half of it is red wine, and the other half is cheaper lager.
Wandering towards what is obviously a poorer section of town (a bit more run down, houses are smaller, more crowded together), the revel seems to increase, with more people flooding the streets, and the occasional woman of the oldest profession offering a price to male passers-by. It's looking into one of these districts where Tim finds a flushed but satisfied looking Nemo headed back towards the tower -- though the other apprentice gets eyes the size of saucers when he makes eye-contact.
"Eep!" he manages, before the nearest clock chimes that it's fifteen minutes (if Tim understands their timepieces correctly -- judging by the clock they actually have thirty hour days) before the meeting. Then Nemo begins beelining back towards the tower.
Tim doesn't say anything, just raises an eyebrow and heads back to the tower in Nemo's wake - although less hurriedly, assuming he can make it back in time.
Tim is able to make it back in time. And Nemo's rush leads to naught; he ends up sharing the elevator with Tim back up to their dorm.
His face is bright red, and he tries to act nonchalant as he says, "Lovely weather today, isn't it?" It was, mild breezes and no clouds ... or sun.
"Oh, it's fine," Tim replies with a half-smile. "Enjoyed the time off, I take it?"
Nemo coughs quietly, and nods in embarrassment. "Please don't let anyone know?" he asks in a squeak. "It'd mean my apprenticeship ... you know we're not supposed to...." He trails off with a weak smile.
"I won't say anything," Tim agrees. "But just keep in mind that if I saw you, someone else could, too. Better not to risk it next time, maybe."
Nemo looks appropriately chastised, and nods. "Well," he says quietly. "Best get to the auditorium, then."
The room that Nemo goes to next is a larger one -- the ceiling is raised here, too, though it's still on the outer edge of the tower. About a dozen rows of seats (backs to the windows, so to take advantage of the tower's circular shape) face a stage where there's a handful of other seats, and a podium.
Nemo and Tim appear to be a bit early; the seats are only half filled. Notes on the seats in the front row instruct certain people on where to sit. While Angus is here, and Nemo, no one else Tim recognizes is around. Though, Tim doesn't know any women that work in the tower, and there are three of them sitting (though not together) in the seats behind the first row.
Tim takes a few minutes to look over the names on the front row - if he's speaking, he may be up front just so he doesn't have to walk over people to get to the podium.
Angus gets a somewhat weak smile - the imminent speech is weighing on Tim's mind, and he's never liked speaking in front of large groups of people like this.
Tim has a seat not far from Angus, as it turns out. The man with the iron post to replace a leg gives a warm smile in return, and then more and more people begin to funnel into the room. Just before Balmer (a round, incompetent looking man -- almost exactly what one would expect of stereotypical upper management. He's balding, slightly, and got an imposing paunch) saunters into the room and steps up behind the podium, surveying the crowd.
He's about to begin his speech when Catherin slips in through the doors, giving a nervous glance behind her, and then shooting Tim a sharp look. She takes one of the last seats free in the back of the room, and then there's no way Tim can look at her without being obvious. Which will be especially difficult since Balmer taps a baton against the podium for everyone's attention.
"Friends, members of the anabaric siphon crew, and," and here Tim sees that the man sitting immediately next to him -- on the side away from Angus -- is in military dress, "those responsible and ever vigilant for Anabara's safety, it is with no small amount of joy today that I am here to remark upon our festivities!
"It is a testament to our will and our determination, our integrity and our steadfastness, that we are here today, gathered beneath the protective aegis of the Anabaran siphon network to do nothing more than celebrate. And this revelry is entirely earned of our own hard work; a just reward for a job well done. In that vein, I am glad to welcome Foreman Warden Donner to speak."
There's a deathly silence in the room at that. Foreman Donner remains where he's sitting, on the other side of Angus from the military gentleman. The scarred man's eyes narrow, but his face doesn't change.
"Oh," Balmer says after a brief pause. "Right. Well, I suppose I'll need to speak for you, then."
Donner remains completely impassive, though at a glance the two journeymen who work beneath him look furious enough for the scarred man anyway.
Clearing his throat, Balmer drones on, "Journeyman Ken Hastings has performed quite well this year; a real asset to any crew, and our siphon especially. Mister Hastings has been nominated by Master Donner for a citation of merit for commendable virtue in the workspace, along with following the three integrities." He pauses again, glancing at the podium. "But before that, and while we're on the subject of the integrities, I believe that Master Tavner had some words he wished to share with us?"
Angus's expression went from pensive to brooding at Balmer's little stunt, but now his face clears and he rises -- looks like the metal post replacing his leg has a 'dress' alternative that looks like a real leg. Probably wood. He walks forward with a slight limp and takes his place behind the podium, edging Balmer (who turns out to be relatively tiny ... he's barely taller than Millhouse) out of the way and placing both hands on the podium.
"I wish to address this to my crew, and all those who listen," he says in a grave voice. "The integrities guide and shape all Anabarans. I think that my crew, in fact, all of the lads in the tower, have shown all of them. They've let us keep things running in the face of fire, poorly machined replacement parts," Worthington calls out, 'Truth!', at that, "and the lack of light we've got up in the machine works."
The more civilian personell in the crowd look a bit surprised at this. Certainly Angus is drawing more attention than Balmer, who remains standing behind and to one side of the foreman, hovering nervously. "So, valor, dedication, reaffirmation. I'd like to say that of the men in the tower, I've seen few with more valor than Worthington -- who manned a cracked valve to see that the Council would have nothing to complain about, even when it would have been safer to vent all pressure and start from scratch."
The crowd seems to gather that this is important, and that Worthington did something brave, but it's also a bit technical for them. Balmer's face pinkens, ever-so-slightly. "And for dedication, well, I'm sorry lads, no one can help but admire Master Donner himself; to take injury as he has and continue working, letting no volume of broken scrap or, er ... waste ... deter him." This last with a stolen glance at Balmer, who doesn't appear to notice.
"But beyond all that, for reaffirmation, I'd like to announce that our own 'Tim', who came her without a last name, has earned my regard this time." There's a bit of a buzz in the crowd at this. "As you know," Angus says, leaning forward and lecturing, "the only reason someone has to hide from his own name is to spare the disgrace of a failing apprentice. I'll tell you now; Tim's got no shame to hide from. I've scarcely seen a lad with so much initiative and ability to learn." Then he smiles a bit. "The only problem there is, he's no apprentice anymore."
His eyes go to Tim. "Tim, I call upon the three foremen of the tower to recognize you as a Journeyman, no longer an apprentice."
Foreman Donner, and another foreman that Tim doesn't know the name of, both nod and begin clapping their hands.
"Well, then," Angus says, his smile widening to a grin. "Stand up, lad!" He reaches into a pocket and produces a medal -- an iron star pressed onto a gear. He gestures Tim up to the podium.
Tim heads up to the podium, not slightly nervous himself. Be nice if it was a little smaller, he thinks ruefully.
OOC: Shifting 5 points of influence to Persuasion.
Giving Angus a smile as he accepts the medal, he faces the crowd.
"I'll be honest with everyone; I'm not much good at speaking in public, but Master Tavner did ask me to speak," he says, looking around at the people in the crowd. "So I'm going to make this pretty short.
"I'd say the most important thing I've learned during my apprenticeship has been making sure to pay attention to details. If a job isn't done right the first time it almost always means doing twice the work later, so making sure everything is as it should be before you call the job done is really important.
"Paying attention to the equipment you're using is just as important, too." Resisting the urge to look back at Balmer, he goes on. "When you don't have the best parts, making as sure as you can that the part you use is the best you can manage is even more important. A pipe with a tiny crack now can blow open later, or a gear with a lot of flaws can wind up ruining everything inside a box if it shatters."
Giving the crowd a nervous smile, he turns to Angus, taking a breath to steady his nerves. "I'd really like to thank Master Tavner for all the help he's given me during my apprenticeship, and to everyone else here for all that I've managed to learn."
A few things happen at once. First, there's a bit of a silence as everyone is quiet and appreciates the speech. Then the door in the back of the room opens, and two men in clean, identical gray suits slip in unobtrusively -- Tim sees this, but everyone else is frozen for the moment. Catherine does, however, turn around to see the men, and her eyes widen. When they see her, they begin to move towards her -- but they don't reach her.
This is because alarms start blaring from deep within the tower, a series of loud rings. Angus flinches and yelps something, likely an obscenity, then grabs Tim by the shoulder and moves to a door behind the stage. The other members of his crew are already dashing towards the same exit, while the crowd works itself into a panic. Balmer grabs podium and tries to shout for order.
Things that are happening are important, whatever they are. Letting Angus direct him, he shoots an apologetic look at Catherine before hurrying away into the depths of the tower with the foreman.
Catherine runs through the panicking crowd, ducking beneath some flung elbows as pursuers burst through the door, struggling to get in as everyone else is running out. Hitching up her skirts, she dashes right past Balmer and chases Tim through the door, which slams shut behind the group with a shudder, as the emergency elevator begins hauling itself quickly upward.
The alarms are muted here, fading in and out in a bizzare echo-abused doppler effect. Angus blinks, his hands on the controls of the lift, which is a bit cramped now that everyone's crammed inside, then shakes his head. "No time," he mutters. "Lass, stay behind Tim, and out of the way -- I'll find out why you think you belong here later!"
"Of course," she says, shivering slightly, shooting a nervous glance at the door everyone entered through. A door on the opposite side begins opening even before the car reaches the top, Worthington and Angus pushing everyone away from the opening until it comes to a halt.
"Tim, you're with me," Angus barks. "Worthington, I want to see the registers running at full inside three minutes!" Worthington and the other Journeymen scurry off to the ladders, Angus stumps out across a walkway -- the elevator has dumped everyone out in the middle of the works, it looks like. Thankfully, there's a pair of lanterns. Worthington grabs one, and Angus takes the other.
"Yessir," Tim answers briskly, grabbing Catherine's hand as he paces the foreman down the tunnels - it's best she not get lost down here. Hell, it's best that HE doesn't get lost down here either.
Angus leads Tim a distance through the twisting walkways, and up a flight of stairs. There, he hangs the lantern up on a hook, and squints at an array of levels and dials. "Gah," he grumbles. "The Council is ordering almost everything to our defenses -- reserves are already down to half. Tim, I want you to watch the rotors on that shaft over there," he says, gesturing.
The shaft in questions stands out, marked off with brightly painted red chains, as though in warning (like there weren't already enough dangerous moving parts down here). The entire shaft is evidently some kind of modified worm screw, and turns gears nearby. Or would, if they were properly engaged -- gearing keeps them separated for the moment, until Angus pulls a lever.
Then one of the gears (almost a meter across, and probably a ton in weight), slides smoothly into place. Catherine raises an eyebrow and leans forward to peer at it curiously. Before she gets any closer to it, Angus grunts, "Right," and then the main shaft begins spinning.
The gear turns, too, sparking from the edges of its teeth. At this rate, it's probably going to strip itself out in a matter of minutes. "How long?" Angus asks over the screeching whine.
"No more than a couple of minutes - it's not going to take the torque!" Tim calls out over the din.
"Shoddily designed piece of ancient-" Angus begins. Unfortunately, that's as far as he gets -- there's a tremendous crash from above, as gears, walkways, controls, and who-knows-what-else is smashed out of the way. Catherine cries out and ducks, even Angus raising a hand to ward off whatever's coming. Whatever it is, it tore open the tower's roof, and now it's open to the sky, letting the light of day bleed in and illuminate acres of damaged gears. Somewhere, a broken steam-valve is emitting a fierce whistle.
When Tim recollects his senses, the walkway back to the exit is gone, replaced with a wall of tortured and abused looking steel. At roughly eye-level, though at a slight angle, is a battered plate reading, H.M.S. Starflare.
"Oh, no," Angus groans, turning to look shakily at the shaft. It's now cracked, the upper portion spinning out of control, wobbling wildly. The gear and the shaft's lower portions are entirely stationary.
From a distance, barely audible over the ruined machinery's death throes, Worthington cries out, "More is falling! We need those shields up!"
"The shaft's broken from the debris!" Tim bellows back at the top of his lungs. "We can't give you anything from here!"
"We'd best.... We should evacuate," Angus says numbly, staring at the ruined machinery, then the wall of dropped steel. "But that was our exit."
Catherine scowls. "We're not giving up here," she hisses. "Use your spark! Fix the damnable thing!" She then turns to look at the shaft, and swallows, biting her lip. "We'll both do it together," she decides.
"Clearing out!" Worthington shouts. "Stops are locked for shields -- good luck!"
"Lass?" Angus asks, blinking, looking at the girl askance, grinning weakly. "This is a poor time for jokes."
Tim bites his lip for a moment, not sure what Catherine is referring to but knowing that that shaft needs to be fixed or it's going to shake the room down around them as the gyrations get worse. How to fix it given its weight and the fact that it -won't stop- are another matter, though. With a grimace, he gives the motionless end of the shaft a look to see how bad the break is.
The break looks bad. The metal was torquing badly, but something below has jammed it immobile. Thanks to the daylight leaking in, it's visible. A steel hanging walkway is wrapped around it. As far as where the shaft is broken, at a second glance, the metal is deformed out of shape by the force of the break. Angus looks disbelieving, though, as Catherine puts her hands on the still shaft, and they begin to glow faintly.
Tim feels his fingertips begin to itch, and thinks of the tools he would use. If there were, perhaps, weeks instead of moments, a hammer, for one. That would be able to knock the walkway off. After that, there's some solvent. Unlikely to hold the shaft together, but.... And then Tim's vision is momentarily washed away in a staggering field of numbers, diagrams, and schematics.
Suddenly, it all seems very simple. Just tap into the anabaric energy in the world around the shaft, then use its force, guided by the tools.... What a moment ago seems impossible now merely seems daunting.
Daunting is manageable - like any job, everything's just one step at a time. Using the strange anabaric force does feel somewhat natural, and then it's just a matter of peeling away the walkway and doing his best to knit the two broken halves of the shaft together.
Struck by inspiration as he makes the attempt, he also draws out his dream-stick - although quite a bit bulkier than he'd use as a walking or fighting staff. A bit smaller than the diameter of the shaft and made of the finest steel he can imagine, he uses it to form the core of the repaired shaft, using the anabaric power to fill in the remainder of what's been lost.
Tim's stick neatly bridges the gap between the two halves of the shaft. Then it's a simple matter of stringing shimmering strands of resonant energy between the missing machine bits. Catherine is mumbling about kinetic transfers, angular momentum, and torque ratios all the while. But the startling shriek of the walkway being peeled away and dropped into other machinery causes Angus to jump, his replacement foot hitting the deck with a bit of a 'clang'.
In short order, the machine is up to function again. Tim knows that it won't last forever; without someone to hold the energy in shape, it will eventually fade ... but for the next two or three minutes, the shielding unit (and that whole piece of machinery has managed to lodge a schematic of itself in Tim's head, at least for the moment) will work. Angus swallows, then consults the dials on the panel by his side.
Even as he's speaking, Tim understands what's going on; the pieces of deck plating blasted off of the Starflare were very close to the Shroud. Some of them actually pierced it, and others lingered a while before dropping. When they hit the shield that the tower is projecting, they're slowed, until they lower to the streets at a rate people can reasonably dodge away from.
Not a perfect solution, but a better one by far. It's already caught the last few pieces of debris, it seems.
"Well," Angus says shakily, his back turned. "Always thought highly of you, Tim-- er, that is, majesty, I suppose." He bows his head as he turns around. "I feel right shameful for our conduct, now."
"Angus!" someone yells from inside the works. It sounds like Balmer. "Brilliant work, there! Brilliant! We'll get you out of there right quickly!"
"Just Tim will do for now," Tim replies a bit shakily, blinking a bit to get used to the feeling of the machine in his head - since it seems to have taken up partial residence for the moment. Slowly he backs away from the rapidly spinning shaft, watching it carefully - while he does think it'll hold, better to keep a close eye on it until they DO get out of here.
Tim doesn't need to worry about the shaft much longer. Very shortly, the upper shaft runs out of steam, and the lingering traces of energy in the air fade away. Only the stick remains.
The schematic begins fading from Tim's mind, too. Not vanishing entirely, just drifting into the area of the mind where less important things go, eventually. It's rather disconcerting.
Catherine shakes her head, as though to clear it, and groans. "My head," she whimpers. "And, oh, good sir ... it would honestly be for the best if you told no one, for the moment. My brother and I are in hiding, and ... well ... suffice to say it's for good reason."
Angus blinks, squinting. "Are...." He turns to look at Tim for guidance. Nemo calls from the other side of the fallen hullplate. "Hoy! Tim! Are you there? Step away from the plate -- we're going to burn through with an anabaric torch."
The Foreman follows the command immediately, taking a few steps down the walkway away from where they're going to cut, and motioning Catherine and Tim to follow.
"Let's talk about it later, Master Tavner," Tim says quietly, shaking his head.
Raising his voice a bit, he calls back to Nemo. "We're here, Nemo! The door's clear, cut away!"
"Cutting," Worthington calls. By the sounds, there's several people out there. Probably people very happy not to be crushed thanks to the shield miraculously working, come to think of it.
Catherine sighs, then leans into Tim, her eyes drifting shut. "I never was as good at this as you were," she mumbles, shaking her head. "We've ... got to get to ... Nathan, before...." But then she slumps completely, falling asleep. Angus shakes his head, as a spark begins to bite through the plate. It's slow going, though. As badly abused as the plate was, it was still armor on a battleship.
Tim only has a few moments to wonder how he knew it was a battleship before he recalls the dream-stick, still overlapping the shaft. That could raise some questions.
Using one arm to support Catherine, Tim takes a moment to return the stick to the Dream it came from, grimacing at the impact he knows is going to hit once the lower part of the shaft is released.
With things back to "normal", he takes a moment to pick Catherine up entirely, exhaling a long sigh.
I have really got to get some answers, he thinks. But at least I'm still alive to get them.
The shaft does indeed drop itself lower with a ponderous creak, though this is mostly masked by the sound of the cutting going on not far away. Shortly, a passage is carved through the plate, and the way is opened. Tim sees all of his co-workers crowded around the gap, all of them grinning like idiots, or kids on a field trip. Behind them, Balmer is looking less and less pleased as he surveys the damage to the works.
At a guess, it's going to take literally months to repair, unless they bring in some sort of flying platform to drop of parts. Catherine is surprisingly light, too.
She does garner a few raised eyebrows, though. Mostly from Nemo and Balmer. "Right," Angus says, shaking his head. "The lady needs to be taken to the infirmary, everything else can wait." With that said, he forges a path through the gawking men, seeming to take special glee in pushing Balmer against the railing so that Tim has enough space to move past. Then Angus barks over his shoulder, "Nemo! Get some papers -- Worthington, try and figure if anything left here is salvagable."
"But, Master Tavner, Master-"
"You can give what you've gotten to him when he gets here," Angus says levelly. "And good job keeping your wits about you. I know I can trust you to handle this."
"Aye, Master Tavner!"
And then Angus opens the elevator door. At least that still seems to work.
Tim only spares Balmer a short glance, pushing his way through the crowd to reach the elevator with Angus. "I really need to figure out what the hell is going on," he murmurs under his breath, looking down at the woman in his arms.
Angus laughs shakily, guiding the elevator down perhaps a floor. It lets out into a familiar looking hallway. Tim could find his way to his own quarters from here.... But the foreman leads the way down the path the opposite direction, towards a room with a symbol of a heart on it.
Must be their medical station.
Taking a moment to get Catherine into the first open bed he can find, Tim then flops down heavily next to it, running a hand through his hair.
In Anabara now. Where are you?
Tim sits up a bit straighter at the unexpected mental contact.
Glad to hear from someone, finally. I'm in some sort of anabaric power station, run by a guy named Balmer. Have you met the others?
All here, ascending the Echelon. News?
I just narrowly avoided getting crushed by a piece of battleship armor and I'm apparently royalty in hiding. Other than that? I bought flowers and played poker. You?
Brought battleship. Need to stay hiding, or do you want to be found?
Found would be good, was planning on meeting Rez soon if I could swing it. Cover's semi-blown anyway.
Urgent? Could swing it.
Not dire, but sooner is better.
On it. Can't keep this up. Will be in touch again soon. And with that the touch of his mind is gone.
The medical bay is empty, and hosts a dozen beds. There's a cabinet of medical supplies, too, and Angus helps himself to a tot of brandy before handing a tumbler full of the stuff (smells terribly potent) to Tim. The foreman's hands are shaking slightly, and he doesn't meet the newly-christened Journeyman's eyes.
Catherine makes a noise in her sleep, but doesn't rouse.
Tim takes the brandy with a small smile, only sipping at it for the moment - strong liquor's not something he's ever really gotten along with all that well.
"I wish I could explain better, but..." He blows out a breath. "Hell. If Bjorn keeps up his end, you should come with us. There's a lot of explaining needs doing, and not all by me. But I owe you that much, at least."
"Come with you?" Angus asks, furrowing his brow. "Where?"
Catherine starts to stir a bit, and shortly her eyes blink open. "Where..." she begins, unconsciously echoing Angus before she sits up and peers around. "Oh my," she says very quietly. "Are we in trouble?"
Angus snorts and shakes his head. "No." After a pause and a wince, he adds, "Leastwise, not that I know of, majesty."
"We're in trouble," she decides, swinging her legs off the bed and furrowing her brow in concentration. "Tim, what do you think we should do?"
Bjorn whispers into Tim's mind: Here now, on street. With Aleister Sondheim and everyone else.
"I'm not even sure yet, I just know there are friends on the way," Tim replies to Angus.
Turning to Catherine, he shakes his head. "I think we have some explaining to do - we'll be getting out of here soon, but I think Master Tavner at least deserves to know what's going on given what he's seen - and then I may have my own story to add, depending on how much time we have. We have guests outside, though, including Aliester Sondheim."
"The royal cousin is a royal pain," Catherine grouses, which causes Angus to almost choke on his second shot of brandy. At that point, the foreman puts the glass rather carefully down.
"Right, then," he says shakily. "Best not keep the Lord High Anabarist waiting."
"I agree, unfortunately," Catherine says, climbing to his feet, though pausing to catch her balance for a moment. "Tim, I think it's best not to involve Master Tavner unnecessarily. You can write him a letter later. As it is, I'd like to give Aliester minimal opportunities for chastisement." She pauses again, giving Tim a pointed look. "You know how he can get."
A moment later, a voice resonates through the structure of the entire tower: "Where is Balmer?" it demands.
"See?" she says, somewhat petulantly.
This thread now closes, and Tim moves to Space Oddity (http://www.soulriders.org/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=1004761#1004761).