Dieselpunk: An Anthology (22 page)

Neither Condon nor I even attempted to read the engineers’ reactions to those terms. Gethmiscian civilians were banned from the engineering levels we were touring, on pain of death. No foreign diplomat, prisoner, or monarch had ever seen the cogs and rods beneath Gethmisca Tower. Gethmisca’s power has always been based on superior, mysterious, and dangerous technology. Every invasion attempt we have ever repelled has been thanks to weapons developed and often operated by the Guild of Physical Engineers. Threats, secrets, and the ignorance of our foes have been valuable weapons as well. In ancient times, many foreigners believed that our eldest engineers possessed divine intellect derived from eating the brains of our enemies, while a pact with stone devils kept the tower from falling during quakes. In modern history, our superior guns and near-endless supply of electrical power have made countless potential invaders lose their desire to conquer the Shaking City.

Gethmiscian citizens know the value of keeping our technology secret, engineers most of all. Before engineers can leave the city, they must ingest a slow-acting poison. Should an engineer return to Gethmisca on schedule, his or her superiors will administer the antidote. Should an engineer be captured by foes and tortured, the Guild’s mental tenacity training will allow him or her to keep silent until the poison does its work.

Ever-wishing to appease the Guild, Condon said, “You may live assured that as long as I remain alive there will be no alliance of minds with the Trekkar. Our ancestors have died to protect the secrets of your Guild, and our generation will bleed as well to protect those secrets if we must. I
would have us face the hardships of siege as we have in the past rather than hand over our technology t
o
backwards zealots, even for the promise of allied victory over the zarr’s corrupt empire.”

“
We knew of your traditionalist stance, but were ignorant to the terms of alliance that the foreigners have offered. We also know little of the technology our potential foes are wielding. Gethmisca wins its wars with superior science, not superior numbers. As I elaborate on the details of our own technology, you must enlighten us with the latest foreign technology intelligence. No rumors, only facts collected by our spies.” Timin secured and tested our safety lines after the quake finished, and Aor led us onto the catwalks.

Condon began a lengthy description of Trekkar mobile-armored units, comparing their performance to the fearsome pachyderms the nomadic fanatics had used in war for hundreds of years. I provided specific technical data from the intelligence reports that I had memorized specifically for this meeting, as instructed, though today I couldn’t tell you how thick their armor is or how fast the things can travel. We also discussed the latest estimates of the Camparian super-cannon’s range and power based on what our telescopes atop the tower had seen.

They seemed quite pleased with the information. Condon gave me a coded gesture to signal early success. He was confident that the Guild did not feel threatened enough to be bullied into an alliance with either side, and would grant him their full blessing to act as Gethmisca’s voice. A vote of no confidence against any official with the Guild’s blessing must be decided by popular vote, rather than a vote by the Council of Representatives. Condon had several strong enemies on the Council, but his cease-fire had made him very popular among the commons.

As a career politician, I’m ashamed to admit that I was taking less interest in the political discussion than I was in the activities of the working engineers. With our guides discussing liquid fuels, secondary propellant charges, Trekkar religion, Camparian labor revolts, modern siege tactics, and statistics, I was left to my own conjectures regarding the tasks of the laborious men and women of the tertiary shaft.

Since the shaft had fallen still except for the occasional mild aftershock, the tasks that engaged the workers had altered significantly. At this depth, the number of rods extending above and below us was over twice as many as I had seen higher up. Many of the rods were completely motionless, while others spun at various inconsistent speeds. Engineers were shifting the positions of the motionless rods. Clutch levers seemed to dictate which rods were engaged and which were fit to be manually shifted or removed. There were constant flashes of welding, though I had no idea if the rods were being cut, mended, or tempered. Once I saw a laborer unhitch his safety line and wrap his limbs around a still rod, then slide down it to the levels below.

Curiosity soon overcame me. I asked if we would get a chance to see the deepest levels where geothermal energy was collected and the tectonic cogs themselves could be viewed. Our guides paused a moment while Condon cheerfully seconded my request.

“We hadn’t prepared for such a descent.” Aor lead us to an alternate elevator as she spoke. “Unfortunately, much heavier insulation suits are required to visit the deepest levels of the primary shaft. Moving proficiently in such suits requires proper training. You’ll have to settle for seeing the clutch junction between this shaft and one of the secondary shafts. Later on, when we go back up, you’ll also get a chance to see the turbines that all of these twisting rods are spinning. The turbines are what convert the kinetic energy of the quakes into electrical power. I assure you, there will be no shortage of wonders to observe.”

 
Condon seemed hurt that he would not be allowed to view the legendary tectonic cogs. He whined like a child deprived of a much-promised gift.

“
Turbines and clutches are beautiful and ingenious to be sure,” he said in his famous cajoling tone, “but the tectonic cogs are the glorifying achievement of our culture! All mechanical and electronic innovations in the city are powered by their turning!”

“
Yet without clutches and turbines they could turn forever and power nothing but a single mill, as they did originally.”

I was not fully satisfied either and joined in the begging. “Politicians and lay-folk alike swear by the cogs, yet we have no idea if they are stone or metal! I’ve heard conflicting reports that they have a diameter as small as a plate or wider than the base of the tower itself. Could you at least tell us their dimensions?”

Aor’s visor couldn’t hide the irritation in her voice. “My dear diplomats, you cannot preach to your constituents the importance of maintaining the secrecy of the cogs while demanding to see them! Mr. Condon, did you not say you would die before allowing the Council of Representatives to ask us to reveal our secrets to foreigners? Mr. Lyles, you are no radical. Would you have us open tours of the lower levels to the public?”

In an attempt at humor, I brought up the famous joke. “Well, you can tell we politicians haven’t understood a thing about re-creating your work from what we’ve seen on the tour, so what harm would it be in letting a pair of simple-minded diplomats like us see the cogs?”

“You wouldn’t joke so lightly if a Trekkar priest asked to see them.”

Her tone was so combative that I took my wit a step further. “I’d say there’s no harm in letting one of those idiots see the cogs, they’d see it as a triumph of god more than a triumph of humanity. If they’re foolish enough to believe that humans and animals share the same souls, and a dead man’s insides can predict the future, they can’t be intelligent enough to decipher the complexity of your machines from one casual tour!”

Condon guffawed, and added that he’d be fine with allowing any foreigners to visit the tectonic cogs, so long as they permanently ended their tour at the very bottom of the primary shaft.

Whether our humor was appreciated or not, Aor politely explained that the issue truly concerned time and safety, not trust. “Realistically, anyone who hasn’t studied physical engineering for twenty seasons or more couldn’t leak any vital information from a tour. The public is banned for tradition and practicality, not security.”

“Well, I for one would be fine with lifting the ban!” I spoke frankly, but with a tone of jest. “Don’t tell the folks who voted me in on a traditionalist ticket, though.” Condon signaled me to hush. He spoke to me, but loud enough for all to hear.

“
Those traditions have a noble purpose. The less that is known about the cogs, the more power they give us. Not only electrical power, but domestic and foreign bartering power.”

We trudged slowly across the last catwalk in silence, and I got the feeling our tour would soon end. Aor was continually checking her chronograph. Before she led us through another set of locking doors, she explained that we would soon be directly above the cogs of a junction point and would require far shorter and tighter safety lines. “The drop is not so deep as in an open shaft, but the end of the drop is just as deadly. Many a tool, secret, and life have been lost in the grinding cogs below.”

Condon and I couldn’t manage to attach our own lines unaided, so we helped each other. While I was fumbling with his third carabiner, Cogmaster Broman stopped me, undid my work and re-attached all three links to Condon’s back in an instant.

“
Allow me. I’m responsible for keeping citizens safe, and I take it very seriously.”

I thanked him as he checked my back as well.

To my delight, the cogs of the junction were almost exactly as I had imagined the tectonic cogs! Condon shared my amazement as we leaned over safety ledges, ogling the grinding pit of cogs and clutches. The cogs were massive. One had a radius twice my height. They rotated in complete chaos, changing speed and direction of rotation at random. Sharp twists, opposite forces, and unexpected jams made Gethmisca’s True Voice roar and groan. Cogs of matching sizes had been forged from matching alloys that somehow failed to add any sense of order. Black and reddish-brown lubricants splashed as the cogs accelerated. Engineers squirted more here and there, checked gauges, cranked levers, and tightened octagonal nuts,
all while maintaining an ever-present hold on some handle or back
up safety line. As a scholar, I must admit how unnatural the scene should have appeared, people in heavy suits, living underground, and surrounded by machinery; but to me it held the exact same beauty one finds when observing rare and magnificent animals in their natural achievements of survival over harsh environments. Those engineers moved with the wild and delightful skill of lizards in a basin of angry scorpions, or spiders catching a swarm of wasps in a giant sticky web.

I could tell you about it for hours. I was so engrossed in the visual symphony and accompanying colors of mechanical noise that I could barely notice Aor explaining what the engineers on duty were actually doing. I must admit, I don’t ever care to know. To me, humanity’s mastery of the Fault is as beautiful and tedious as a bird’s mastery of the sky. I don’t need to understand how it works to know that it is wonderful, glorious, and meant to be.

As I turned to thank our guides for their amazing work, the lighting in the junction chamber flashed blue. Everyone dropped their work to grab handles with both arms. Condon and I followed suit immediately. I shouted my loudest, asking how they had predicted the aftershock, but when it hit, the noise was so powerful I couldn’t even hear myself.

I lost my footing instantly, also losing track of anything besides my will to hold onto the handles of the cable-railing. Even with my strongest grip, I was whipped from the catwalk like a fly from a pachyderm’s tail. I’ll admit that panic overtook my senses during those moments, but I must commend the safety equipment I was wearing. My already tight safety-line automatically retracted, and though I swung like a pendulum and bounced between rods like a ricocheting bullet, I never fell towards the grinding death below. When the quake subsided and I pulled myself back to the catwalk, I didn’t even feel any of the minor bruises I found on myself later. The padding and safety lines had done their job.

Timin and Broman helped me reset my safety line as I regained my footing and tried to calm my heart rate.

Then I regained my scattered thoughts. “Why didn’t you tell us you could predict the quakes? Don’t you think the rest of the city would appreciate that knowledge?”

Timin shook his head apologetically. “We can’t predict ‘em. At least not accurately or far enough in advance to be useful to you at the top. That quake that kept us in the elevator earlier, that was a foreshock, what we call an indicator. If that hadn’t have hit, we wouldn’t have gotten any warning about that last real shaker. I’m guessing it was around a five, pretty normal. Aor will check to be sure.”

As I looked around to find Aor checking a meter, I became very unsettled. Condon was not on the catwalk. I saw his empty safety line dangling from the ceiling just as Cogmaster Broman put a heavy hand on my shoulder, intensifying my insecurity.

“You see why I take safety so seriously? One loose carabiner on these tight-winched safety lines can make the difference between life and death. Sorry about your boss. The instructors from my early youth would have loved his negotiation policies.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look down at the cogs. I didn’t need to ask if survival was a possibility.

“He’s gone. Who can deny the Fault?” At this point I was thankful I couldn’t read the cogmaster’s facial expressions. “Accidents are common as sand down here. Nothing you could have done would have saved him.”

I turned away from him and followed Timin off the catwalk, back to the elevators. Aor was waiting for me.

“Mr. Lyles, we should get you back topside as soon as possible. I’ve sent a telegram to deliver the bad news to the Council. Today’s mishap means they will have to hold an emergency vote tomorrow to select the next voice. You’ll need as much time as possible to prepare your proposed strategy for negotiations with the Trekkar.”