Aetheric Elements: The Rise of a Steampunk Reality by Travis I. Sivart

  Jonathan watched from the ground Jasper shot out of the zeppelin, wobbling under the weight and drag of the rucksack that was strapped to his back. His brother didn’t have a clue where to go. He came close to the cliff wall and circled back out over the scrub plains, wasting fuel as he tried to figure out his next move. That was the problem with Jasper’s plans - they fell short on the closing. Jake always had a getaway but was always fuzzy with the details in the beginning. He would find a great score and plan a dramatic entrance and a daring escape, but have little else considered.

  Jonathan watched as a silhouette rose in the cockpit of the airship. The nose of the vessel began to raise and turn it away from the collision with the cliff. He held a large box in both hands. Raising it over his head, the oldest brother toggled the switches and turned a dial. The thick iron antenna sparked and hummed as electric flowed through it. Jasper looked in Jonathan’s direction, his attention caught by the movement and flashes.

  Jonathan watched without expression as his brother’s course was corrected and headed towards him. Continuing his manipulations of the control box, he fingered the slide bar into position and pushed down on the small plunger. The dirigible exploded. The air boomed and the concussive force of the explosion slammed into Jasper midair, turning and tumbling him head over heels. Hot wind washed over Jonathan, blowing his stringy hair back from his gaunt face. Jasper slammed into the ground thirty meters from where his brother stood and slid fifteen meters closer as his rocket pack went out of control. He came to a stop, but the pack still issued forth steam and a high pitched whistle.

  Jasper screamed and scrambled to unstrap his harness and remove the contraption as the steam scalded his legs. Debris from the government aircraft rained down around the brothers as Jonathan watched his younger sibling. The remaining structure of the ship slammed into the bluff, causing a series of smaller explosions. The large pieces fell in the distance, but smaller fragments flew in a wide circle.

  “Aren’t you going to help me?” Jasper yelled as he pushed upright, trying to free the tangled rucksack from the machine before it exploded also. He tore the money bag from the twisted wreckage. Standing, he yanked his braces over his shoulder and shoved his trousers down, revealing the blistered skin on his legs, already raw and peeling. He tried to remain standing as he pulled the dungarees over his boots, falling over again, bursting the blisters, and causing sand to grind into his fresh wounds.

  Swearing, Jasper stood again. He spun towards his older brother, his mouth open to yell. He stopped and noticed the scene around them. A dozen men on horses rode out of a sheltered overhang towards the wreckage followed by three wagons. A woman stood beside Jonathan. She watched Jasper, head cocked as the older brother surveyed the scene in the distance.

  “The Prophet will not speak,” she said. “I will speak for him.” She was a head shorter than Jonathan, which made her tall for a woman. She wore men’s clothing, a simple brown leather vest over a sweat stained shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and miner’s dungarees. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing a hat, which made her icy blue eyes squint in the bright sun. It was her scars that stood out. Her face was disfigured, showing where she had been cut many times, and her arms showed puckered flesh, telling a tale of severe burns. The red tint of her skin spoke of her heritage as one of the dasism people native to this land.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I am Genesee. I am the Speaker for the Prophet. I was born into the tribes to join them and do this task. I knew the Prophet’s father and served him, and now I serve the Prophet. He says you have a good head on your shoulders, but you are driven by emotion,” she said, sizing him up. “We will help guide that.”

  Jasper looked down and realized his state of undress. He covered himself with his hands and limped to his trousers, pulling them in front of him. “Look, I got the money!”

  “No, you got one bag of money. The Prophet will have the whole cargo of gold.” She pointed in the distance at the men closing on the wreckage. “He also said you limited vision. His vision encompasses all.”

  “He talks to you?”

  “The Prophet speaks to the pure, and you can see I have been purified.” She held out her puckered and scarred arms for inspection.

  Jasper stammered, and Jonathan stopped him with a snap of his fingers that sounded as loud as thunder in the rocky ravine in which they stood.

  The middle brother looked up. “You killed Jake,” he said, “and I would have died too, if I hadn’t thought to take Jake’s jetpack.”

  “Yes, a sacrifice was necessary to make this happen,” Genesee replied with a calm that irritated Jasper.

  “But I was on that ship too. I would have been killed also!”

  Genesee looked to Jonathan for guidance. Unspoken communication flowed between them, and Jonathan nodded. Genesee spoke again, “But you weren’t. You found your way off, so it is fate that you will continue to assist the Prophet in His great plan. Since His father passed this burden down to Him, He has worked tirelessly, against your and Jake’s squabbling, to bring His plan to fruition.”

  She spoke with an educated tone, and Jasper shook his head. Everything was surreal, and the world spun for a moment. He began to fall. Jonathan was there, catching, supporting, and helping him to shade. The middle brother’s mind was in a whirl. This was his older brother’s plan? Jasper has designed and built the gear needed to make it happen. How could Jonathan claim it was his own plan? And what was that thing about their father handing down something to his oldest brother?

  Genesee held a canteen to Jasper’s lips. He took it and drank. She looked at Jonathan, who only nodded. “The Prophet has decided you may know more. His father had great knowledge and plans. A dream of creating an army, a force, of men and machines blended together and using these to overthrow the tyranny that rules this land. The Prophet is no criminal; He is not a thief. He is a man of vision, with powerful allies.

  “His father groomed Him to be a leader of men, just as you were groomed to be blindly loyal and an inventive genius, meant to build the tools He would need to craft the creations that would change the face of this torn nation. We will call upon the spirits of the land, the wind and weather, lightning and rock. We will enhance men with the gifts of the earth and make them more than they would ever be without it. This is the will of the Prophet, guided by the spirit of His father.”

  A rider rode hard towards them. Genesee gripped her hand into a fist, a small hiss and grinding squeak sounding from her forearm. The man reined in his horse four paces from the trio. “There is one survivor. We think it is your brother, Prophet,” he panted, glancing at Jasper. “Your other brother.”

  Genesee smiled. “The Prophet said Jake is strong of body. His survival is also a sign. Jasper, it looks as if we have our first volunteer to become a machine warrior of the New Order. He will be perfect once we have removed his spirit and replaced it with steel and steam. Let it begin.”

  As Jasper was led away he couldn’t help but feel excitement for things to come.

 

  Looming Shadows