Excerpt

Heart of the Empire

Jason Palmatier

The pistons that had replaced Admiral von Trite's heart rose and fell with a soft hiss-gush, hiss-gush, playing peek-a-boo behind his rigid shoulders. A light smoke swirled up from his stack, no more than would curl from a fine walnut pipe, tingeing the air with the acrid smell of coal-fire. He glared at the crisp parchment in his hand, twisting his magnificent mustache between thumb and forefinger as he read.

"Admiral?"

Von Trite's frown deepened and he glanced up at his oldest, dearest friend and confidant, Dr. Titus Jenson.

"What does it say, sir?" Dr. Jenson leaned forward, squinting through his thick spectacles.

Von Trite grunted, looked down at the letter and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice boomed, still full of command in this, his fifty-seventh year.

"Sir. Your offer of aid to the Crown in these trying times is most appreciated. As we endeavor to throw back the relentless invader that has beset us, it is a great comfort to Her Majesty to know that such an honored and dear friend holds her safety close to his heart. However, at this time Her Majesty feels that the best hope for the Empire lies in the courage and arms of the magnificent Gendarme Električni. Her Majesty beseeches you, her most beloved Royal Explorer, to seek safety in the underground of our dear capital while our newly armed company defends her."

"I . . . I see." Dr. Jenson paused, not quite sure what to say. The steam-powered heart he had designed for his friend had slowed the Admiral some, but it had not reduced his temper. He braced himself for the venting that was sure to come from such a curt letter of dismissal.

The Admiral slowly shook his head.

"'Close to his heart' indeed," von Trite mused. A distant explosion rumbled Dr. Jenson's teacup on its saucer and knocked a shrunken head from its stand in one of von Trite's glass curio cases. "Forty-three years, Titus." The great clock atop the mantel bonged loudly, a hiss of steam shooting from the side nozzle that regulated pressure from the house boiler. "Forty-three years of service to the crown on the highest of high seas, in the darkest of dark jungles."

Dr. Jenson swallowed, nodding his head, fortifying himself for the verbal onslaught that was surely imminent. But instead, the Admiral's face fell slack and his arm dropped onto the desk. His magnificent, mustachioed head sagged forward. Dr. Jenson startled, then reached out for the small pile of coal at the corner of von Trite's desk. But he caught himself, fingertips inches from the ornate silver charger that the black char sat upon. Nothing set the Admiral off more than feeding his hopper for him.

"Sir." Dr. Jenson cleared his throat. "Sir!"

Von Trite blinked, looking up groggily.

"Your fire, sir. It's low."

Von Trite squinted, confused, then blinked in understanding. He flopped his arm forward, worked a nugget of coal from the pile, and laboriously lifted it into the hopper over his left shoulder. It clattered down to sit atop the firebox door until von Trite weakly twisted the spring-loaded door handle on his left side.

The coal fell in and ignited. The pace of the shining pistons on his back quickened. Blood surged through the fine glass sight tubes that ran across the back of his neck. Slowly the fog cleared from the Admiral's eyes. He pulled in one deep breath, then two. Presently he resumed talking, his mind ramping up along with his boiler's pressure.

"I blocked an assassin's bullet for her with my own heart, Titus, and this . . ." von Trite tossed the paper onto his dark mahogany desk. "This is how she repays me? Telling me to hide in the underground like a rat? A rat!"

Dr. Jenson flinched at von Trite's vehemence. If the Queen only knew how much the old Admiral still loved her, she would let him throw himself at the invaders in a vain but glorious attempt to defend her. But she did know. That was the problem. She didn't want him to die because she loved him too.

When von Trite had knelt before her, dashing, young, cocksure, asking for a grant to map the Antarctic for crown and country, she had gazed down at him with fixed fascination, smitten from the get-go. Dr. Jenson had watched von Trite lock eyes with her, challenging her to say no and wooing her to say yes, all at the same time. It had been magnificent. Classic von Trite. But all of that steadfast love had now brought about this stalemate of the heart. Her Majesty would not risk von Trite in battle, and von Trite would not sally forth without Her Majesty's approval.

The Admiral shoved himself to his feet, sweat beading his brow. Dr. Jenson attempted to curtail the inevitable. "I know, sir. But she only means the best. These . . ." he waved his hand at the ceiling, "Kappa Cygni invaders, or what have you, are very dangerous. Not a single one has been felled by her majesty's forces."

"Not even by the 'Gendarme Električni?'" The Admiral spat the Queen's prized brigade's name out like rancid olives.

"Well, they have been held in reserve until now . . ."

"Bah!" The Admiral shook his head in disgust. "The upstarts. What have they got over the Morgan? Eh? What have they got with their light poppers and crackle makers? A fancy show? A glowing exposition piece? They still need the steam, Titus! They still need the fire and the water to make their contraptions work. They still need the steam!"

"I know, sir."

The Admiral settled back, waving his hand. His specially crafted great chair, with cutouts for the boiler and engine on his back, creaked in protest. The centrifugal governor whirred, the bar arms flattening out to slow down the inflow of steam to his pistons, keeping them from over-speeding and throwing a rod. Dr. Jenson swallowed and tried to calm his nerves. It looked like the storm had passed for the moment.

The room shook to another rumble, this time closer and longer lived, followed by a muted volley of rifle shots. The great steam clock gushed again, releasing excess pressure. Dr. Jenson jumped. He turned and glared at the clock. "Now what would make it do that again so soon . . ."

Running footsteps in the hall interrupted his musing. A loud knock sounded at the door.

"Come," Admiral von Trite bellowed.

The door flew open, revealing a royal messenger out of breath and smeared with soot.

"Tesla's weapons have failed!"

The Admiral and Dr. Jenson frowned in confusion.

"The Gendarme Električni have fled from the streets in disarray! The invaders are closing in on the palace unimpeded. The Queen beseeches you for aid, sir!"

The Admiral stared. The great steam clock ticked out four distinct seconds. The Admiral rose slowly to his feet, knuckles resting atop his desk.

"Tell Her Majesty that she shall have it."

The messenger sagged in relief and bowed, then turned and fled back down the grand hallway. Dr. Jenson turned to the Admiral with a look of shock.

"But sir! How? The Morgan will never be ready in time."

Von Trite said nothing. Instead he walked stiffly over to a grand curio of solid oak and turned the key to its stained glass door. From within he withdrew a small, black walnut chest garnished with gold leaf. He raised the lid and looked over to Dr. Jenson, whose eyes flew wide in recognition.

"Battle Coal!" Dr. Jenson cried.

The Admiral nodded. Dredged from the shallows off the coast of Cuba, the coal had fired the great ship Morgan into full battle frenzy for two years, burning hot and fierce, letting them run on a quarter bunker load. They flew over the seas, blasting, boarding and ramming with glee. They sank Russian and pirate ships with ease, sealing the Admiral's name in sea lore before their supply ran out. Dr. Jenson had thought none had survived.

"But that's not enough to fire the Morgan . . ." Dr. Jenson began.

The Admiral gave his friend a knowing half-smile. "Ah, Titus. It's not going to fire the Morgan. It's going to fire me." Von Trite picked a small jet-black piece from the chest and tossed it into his hopper, firebox door already open. The coal rattled down and exploded into flames, burning bright blue tinged with deep purple. The pistons on his back bucked hard, ratcheting up to an as yet unseen level. Dr. Jenson gasped.

"Sir, you must be careful! You will exceed your governor limits and shut down your boiler!"

The Admiral flared his eyes, the flames of the coal seeming to burn within them. He stretched his back with a crack and two pops then reached over his shoulder and yanked the madly spinning governor off, slamming it onto the desk. "Now we can't have that, can we Titus? There's an empire to save!" Von Trite dumped the remaining coal into a small sack and shoved it into his jacket pocket. "To the Morgan!"