Steemjammer: Through the Verltgaat (29 page)

Chapter
29

together we triumph

Slowly rising into consciousness, Will became aware that he lay in dark room with only a sliver of pale light coming under a door. It was unsettling, he thought, to keep waking up not knowing where he was or what was about to happen. At least he could see and think clearly again.

He heard none of the eerie, muted bell tones and found that he wore his old clothes – and badly needed a bath. Still alive, he reflected, but he’d been locked in a musty cell on a lumpy old cot: still a prisoner.

Then, he remembered the control panel drawing and thrust his hand into his pocket, which was empty. Of course, they’d taken it. Would they guess his identity? Did they already know, and were they just toying with him?

***

“Congratulations,” said a crisp but not particularly cheerful voice.

Startled, Will woke up. He’d drifted back to sleep and hadn’t heard the cell door swing open or Bram step in.

“Welcome to the Rasmussen Protectorate,” the youth said, catching Will completely off guard.

No friendly handshake was offered, and his words had sounded like an order, a mandate delivered to an inferior.

“Huh?” Will said, getting up gingerly because of stiff muscles.

“We know all about you now,” Bram said. “You spilled. Of course you had to, with all the chemicals he pumped into your bloodstream.”

“What?” Will thought, about to panic. He remembered managing to just hide his identity.

“You’re a sneak thief, and a pretty good one,” Bram said with an appreciative smile. “You found a secret room in the Steem Museum.”

“Oh,” Will said, inwardly relieved and remembering how Clyve, by making assumptions, had come to that conclusion.

“What were you doing, playing around with Shadovecht?”

At first Will had no idea how to reply but felt he had to answer quickly. To his amazement, a story popped into his head, and he found himself saying: “I didn’t think it could hurt me. There had to be something good inside giving it all that power.”

“Trying to steal Incendium from a Shadovecht?” Bram snorted. “Stupid, Stevens. Bold, I’ll give you that, but really stupid. You would’ve burned yourself to a crisp – and half the museum, too!”

The thought made him cackle.

“Seemed worth the risk,” Will said, trying to play along. “Even a little bit’s worth a fortune.”

“To a fatherless beggar like you,” Bram sneered. “Let’s get something clear: I saved your life. You owe me, Stevens. You owe me a lot.”

Will wasn’t given a chance to respond. Bram was telling him how it was.

“You’d better not let me down,” he added with an edge.

“What do you mean?” Will asked.

“You snooped around Steemjammer property and got into one of their secret spots. Good. You stole from them. Good. But if you try that against my family?”

My brain will be in a jar, Will almost said but stopped himself. Did they have any sense of the things he’d overheard while paralyzed?

“Bad?” he guessed, figuring he should say something.

“No, Stevens,” Bram scowled. “‘Bad’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. You don’t want to find out. Ever.”

Will still felt like he was missing something.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Bram said.

“No.”

“You’ve been taken into the Rasmussen Protectorate.”

The words hit Will like a hammer blow to the face.

“I see you’re properly awed,” Bram smiled, mistaking his reaction, “but don’t let it go to your head. You’re a Gray, the lowest rank. If you screw up, we take it away. People at the bottom who get demoted don’t get second chances. Catch my drift?”

Will nodded solemnly.

“Get dressed,” Bram ordered. “Go eat.” Something about that made him grin in a peculiar way. “I’ll find you later.”

***

Getting dressed meant putting on a pair of drab gray overalls over his normal clothing. A muted, dull clanking began somewhere in the building complex above, and after seven times, it stopped. Seven in the morning, Will guessed. That was a Rasmussen clock.

The cell door had been left open. Finding a large corridor nearby, he followed other similarly dressed people to a large, poorly lit dining hall that had gray stone walls lined with stark, red and black banners in English and Dutch. “TOGETHER WE TRIUMPH,” one read. “PROTECTION FOR ALL” and “STRENGTH FROM UNITY” were printed on others. Another had a large eye on it, with the slogan “REPORT ALL SUSPICIONS.”

Someone shoved a stamped metal tray into his hands, and he found himself in a food line. A fat lady ladled steaming gray porridge into a section, while a short man plopped down greasy hash, not caring that it mixed with the other food. At a counter there was sliced bread and what appeared to be tea.

Following the others, Will sat on a long bench. They ate silently, while at the far end of the room, a woman in a nicely tailored black dress appeared at a high podium. Above her, a hatch clanked open in the ceiling, bathing her with reflected sunlight. She had her red hair pulled back tightly, while a narrow, wispy white forelock hung down to the level of her eyebrows.

Another minor Rasmussen, Will guessed, thinking how strange it was that their forelock’s volume seemed to denote their family importance. Bram’s was the fullest he’d seen.

“Our gift,” she said in a piercing, resonant voice, “your peace. As you eat the food that we freely provide, reflect on the many that aren’t having any breakfast today. Or lunch. Or dinner. Are you thankful?”

“We thank the Provider,” they murmured in unison.

While she spoke about the joys of knowing one would always be fed, Will hesitantly tasted the porridge, which was bland and starchy. The tea smelled odd - nothing like Giselle’s - so he put it down, unsipped. Taking a bite of bread, he found it chewy but edible.

A strange odor came off the hash. “Mystery meat,” he remembered how kids in Ohio described cafeteria food at school. He only ate the bread.

“Freedom,” the lady persuaded, “is why our ancestors came to this world. Are you still free? Obviously not.

“Freedom is what has been stolen from you, stolen by certain greedy families that only take and never share, not in any real way. Is freedom wasting your life slaving in their mines? Building their machines? Is freedom getting old and finding you can’t keep a roof over your head? True Freedom is what the Rasmussen Protectorate offers.”

A banner reading “TRUE FREEDOM” unfurled behind her.

“True Freedom,” she said, “is three meals a day and a warm place to sleep. True Freedom is never having to worry if your choices will bring you ruin. It’s freedom from the chaos of not belonging. True Freedom comes from trusting leadership and opening your mind to guidance. Are you grateful?”

“We thank the Provider,” they chanted.

She rambled on, repeating key phrases, and then she waved her fist. Everyone joined her in the gesture and shouted slogans as prompted. Alarmed, Will waved his fist and pretended to yell when they did, so no one would suspect him. He was glad when she finished and left.

As the others stood and lined up by a square opening in the wall to hand in their empty trays, he followed. Through the opening he could see into another dining hall much like this one, only not as dark. For those higher in rank, he guessed. People there wore white, red or black overalls. A few wore other kinds of work clothing.

A short man in a wrinkled black lab coat stared at Will with surprise. He had long, stringy thin hair and oily skin. Will felt sure he’d seen his face. The man nervously dumped his tray and left.

Will handed his tray full of mostly untouched food to a lady with weathered skin. She screwed up her face.

“Waste!” she shouted.

Heads turned to stare. Unsure what to do, he froze.

“Line up, Grays,” a husky male voice ordered. It was a burly, heavily mustached man in red overalls who’d just entered, and the others immediately obeyed.

The woman didn’t give up and leaned out the window as Will followed the others, pointing a boney finger at him. “Waster!” she cried. “I report him!”

“Hunger will teach him,” the man in red said, shoving Will towards the line forming at the door. “Lots of tasks today. Let’s move, Grays, or there will be consequences.”

The Grays quickly lined up near a cart loaded with cleaning implements, which made Will wonder if he was going to be sent off on some awful chore. Then, a ripple of fear spread among them. At first, Will had no idea what caused it, but he noticed a physical location to the panic: it came like a wave through the room.

“Fear aura,” he realized as it hit him, and gnawing terror assaulted his mind. A Shadovecht moved nearby. The others froze in shock or fell to the floor, shaking, while some screamed and attempted to flee. With effort, Will found he could ignore the fear but decided to act scared, so he wouldn’t stand out.

There was a basement level, he realized, and that was where the Shadovecht had to be – right under their feet. How many, he wondered, were down there? Were the Rasmussens preparing an attack on New Amsterdam?

Everyone reacted to the fear aura, including the man in red, who shouted with fright while swinging a chair as if to fend off imagined attackers. Will saw that the main door had been left wide open. Could he venture through the complex, he wondered, and look for a way out?

Taking a broom, he figured as long as he acted like he’d been given a task, he stood a chance. Sensing his moment, he darted out into the hallway and ran to a shadowed corner. No one followed, and it seemed he’d gotten out unnoticed.

“Now what?” he thought. With almost zero sense of which way might lead out, he went down a poorly lit corridor. Finding a door, he entered an unlit room but realized it was only for storage. To his horror, a darkened form appeared in the doorway behind him. He’d been followed after all, and now he was trapped.

“I know you!” a voice hissed.

Chapter
30

a rasmussen, for life

In a wood paneled office high up inside the Steem Museum, a metal cylinder shot from a tube and thumped into a wooden catch box. Sealed with a gold priority stamp, it had traveled across town quickly. Stefana Steemjammer unscrewed it to extract the “Noo” or pneumatically sent message inside.

“They’re here,” a gravelly voice said from her open doorway. “Safe and sound.”

She glanced up from the report to see Donell Ogilvy entering and shutting the door behind him.

“Angelica, Giselle and Cobee?” she asked. “They took the cable car?”

“Aye,” he said. “We only spotted the one Raz followin’, like before. Unless we’re missin’ somethin’, there’s no increased interest in ‘em.”

“An airship docked at Texel just before dawn.” She handed him the Noo. “It’s still there as of fifteen minutes ago.”

Donell scanned the message twice. “If they knew who they had, surely they’d be rushin’ him off tah the Shadoverks like hounds tah the huntsman.”

“Is it possible,” she asked, “that he’s somehow fooled them?” She lowered her voice and became quite grave. “This could mean something else, something unthinkable.”

He cast his eyes down, worried about the same thing. “Mildred said he wasn’t movin’ as they dragged him in tha’ sack, but nay, it can’t be true! It just can’t.”

“Vanoyt oo lippenstift voor de Groes Vevardinker ooren.”
From your lips to the Great Maker’s ears
.

She rubbed her temples, deep in concentration. Only on rare occasions had Donell seen her so disturbed.

“Only one o’ Bram’s cronies showed up this mornin’,” he said. “He claims the rest have the stomach flu.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. A sigh escaped her lips.

“This could go very badly,” she said so grimly that Donell found himself shaken. “We must plan for the worst. If we’ve lost my brothers and now young Wilhelmus, it all falls to the little one. How do you assess her?”

“Angelica?” He cast about, unsure. “She’s so young.”

“But there’s also great potential. And Giselle is the daughter of Henry’s twin.”

“What about ye? Are ye not yer father’s daughter?”

“I can try, Donell, but I don’t know if I have it in me. We’re cut off, now, from almost everything. The greater family, the machines, and now my closest relatives.”

“But not from hope!”

An unexpected smile appeared on her face. “True, Donell. That may be all we have. By the Maker, let it be enough.”

***

In the dark storage room, Will fished blindly for a weapon other than the broom he already held. Someone had pursued and corned him there, whispering that he knew him.

“I saw you,” the man continued in hushed, strained tones. “You were dead.”

Will grasped the broom handle and prepared to use it as a club. Something about the man’s voice, however, signaled great fear instead of aggression.

“How could you possibly be living?” he asked.

“I’d been poisoned,” Will explained, hoping he could talk his way out of this. “They cured me and discovered they had the wrong person.”

This only irritated the man. “Could you hear me? Did you understand? I must know.”

Will still had no idea what he meant or who he was, but as his eyes adjusted to the near darkness, the person’s face came into view. Short with stringy hair, the strange man seemed gripped with fear, and he recognized him. This was the man in the black lab coat who’d stared at him through the window in the dining hall.

“What do you mean?” Will asked.

“Do you toy with me?” he rasped. “In the tower, on the top floor. I thought you were dead!”

Then, Will remembered when he’d been rendered motionless, and this strange face had peered down into his. The man had spoken about harvesting brains and wishing he could save him from some horrible fate.

“Staas,” he whispered, remembering the name that had been shouted.

“You do recall!” the man hissed, racked with turmoil.

In spite of his danger, Will was surprised to find that he felt pity for the man. Staas managed to control himself enough to fix Will with a maniacal stare.

“What are you going to do?” he asked desperately. “I won’t go back there, the place we’re sent for
conditioning
. I’ll throw myself in the river and pray the currents drag me far to sea.”

“Calm down,” Will soothed, finding it hard to understand what upset this man but wanting to help him. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Staas pressed his hands over his face and rocked back and forth.

“You make a game of my misery!” he accused.

Will blinked. “Huh?”

“Why did I open my stupid mouth? Why?”

“What are you talking about?”

The strange man whimpered, seeming to collapse inside. “My life is like an egg shell in your hand. Simply squeeze and I’m ruined.”

“I’m very confused.”

“How can’t you know?” Staas fixed him with wild eyes. “You heard me bare my soul. I spoke high treason, thinking you were dead. If you tell, you’ll earn favor with the Protectorate.”

He spat the final word with hatred, like it was venom in his mouth.

“Maybe get promoted out of that gray,” he continued scornfully. “Don’t you want that?”

“I want out of here,” Will ventured.

The little man’s beady eyes opened wide.

“What?” he muttered.

“You heard me,” Will whispered. “I want out.”

“Not possible.” Staas studied him, trying to make sense of this. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

Will nodded.

“Once you’re in,” Staas explained, “it’s for life, and death, as you overheard. Your dead nerve tissue, your brain - harvested and put to use for the ‘good of the Protectorate.’ Membership is
permanent
, and in the most ghastly sense imaginable!”

“There has to be a way,” Will said. “A door or something.”

Staas laughed bitterly. “You want to escape Texel?”

“Yes.”

“How? Barred windows. Thirty foot walls of solid stone, all watched by loyal ones, who are only too eager to turn you in for favor.” He spat the word. “The gates are locked, and even if you got out, there’s the river. Icy cold, swift currents, so you couldn’t possibly swim it. If you go south, the shady people there will catch you, hoping for a reward. Then, you’ll be treated with a process they call
conditioning
.”

He shuddered, and Will sensed a flicker of madness in his eyes.

“Even so,” Will said, “I have to get out.”

Staas winced, overtaken by a nervous twitch.

“You still haven’t told me,” he whispered grimly, “my fate. I thought about killing you just now, to keep you silent. Can you imagine? That’s why I followed you, but I couldn’t do it. Years of this madness, but I haven’t been reduced to that level of depravity.”

He pleaded cravenly. “What I can offer for your silence? A job? I need a lab assistant. It’s easy work, and you’d get promoted, if you’re capable.

“In return, I ask that you not tell a single soul what you heard. Well, it’s a fair offer. Better than anything else you’ll get from them.”

Will thought it over. A job in the heart of a major Rasmussen complex? Hadn’t they said this man used to work on verltgaats? There was no telling what he could learn, but it would mean constant risk and lying. Even though he’d discovered that he could mislead people, he feared that each time he’d further damage himself. Sooner or later they’d realize who he was.

“No thank you,” he said gently, “but don’t worry. I won’t tell. I’m not like them.”

Staas flinched as if hurt.

“Take it, you fool,” he hissed. “Take it so you gain and that I know you don’t lie!”

“If you feel you must pay me,” Will said, “for my silence, then tell me something. You worked on world holes for them, right?”

Staas squinted, unsure where this was leading, and nodded with a quick twitch of his head.

“Can the Rasmussens really open one?” Will continued.

Staas narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “What’s your interest in that?”

“Obviously, I’d like to use one.”

“Why? To break into vaults and steal things?”

“That’s my business. Just tell me: are the Rasmussens really close to opening a world hole?”

Staas looked away. For a moment Will feared he’d made a mistake and the strange little man might turn on him.

“They’ve got a world hole machine that should work,” Staas whispered, “but they can’t get it to execute a critical step.”

“What?”

Staas shuddered. “I mustn’t!”

He bit his lip and looked away. Soon his hatred of the Rasmussens overcame his fear of betraying them.

“It’s called ‘accessing Tracium,’” he whispered. “We don’t know much about it, save that only one piece has ever been discovered. It came to Old Earth long ago in a sky stone, also called a shooting star. That’s how the old Steemjammer opened the way to this place.”

Will’s eyes opened wide.

“Is this true?” he said. “They can use pieces of a shooting star to open verltgaats?”

“No, that’s just bits of rock – pieces of history. The Tracium was a lump of metal
inside
the sky stone.”

“Where is it now? The Tracium?”

“Hidden, lost. We don’t know. That doesn’t stop Steemjammers from opening verltgaats, because somehow they can access it no matter where they are. Like Rasmussens are good with poison, they’re good at that. We thought we’d hit a wall, so to speak, that we’d never make it work.

“Then, someone found old documents saying that we only needed to find the piece of Tracium and put it in physical contact with the machine. Ever since, great effort has gone into the search.”

Will felt a sharp jolt in his chest as he realized what this meant: his father hadn’t been looking for pieces of space rock. He’d been searching for the actual lump of
Tracium
.

“If they find it,” he asked, “they can open world holes?”

“Yes,” Staas said, “and it would be a nasty surprise for those Steemjammers, because the first one would open inside their base on Old Earth. The Rasmussens have aether technology and detection devices they never dreamed of, and they know exactly where this place is.”

Will struggled to keep a straight face.

“Where is their machine?” he asked. “Could I get to it and try making it work?”

“Of course not, fool! The location’s so secret I doubt even Clyve Harrow knows. I certainly don’t. And guarded? They’ll have Shadovecht in large numbers. Besides, even if you got to it – even if you had the Tracium – what makes you think you could work it?

“A verltgaat machine’s no simple engine, boy. It somehow reaches through the strands of aether and connects places between worlds. I saw the captured math books with the formulas, and they were unfathomable. Think on that.”

Will hid a smile. “Well, a deal’s a deal. You told me what you know. I’ll honor your request and stay silent. You’re safe, at least as far as I’m concerned.”

He looked down and saw the little man hesitantly offering his hand. Will shook firmly, and it felt like he was grasping a dead fish. Staas finally squeezed back.

“A deal then,” he hissed, turning for the door but stopping. “Where would you go, if you could get out?”

“I think,” Will said, “I’d try to find a place where there are no Rasmussens.” He decided to take a risk and try to plant an idea in the man’s head. “Or perhaps I’d fight back. Someone needs to.”

Staas frowned. “You won’t win. That hope died with the Steemjammers, years ago. They’re all gone or perished. You’re better off being useful to someone powerful. The Rasmussens own the future, even if it’s a nightmare.

“A word of advice. If you sense your end coming, if you know death is near, find a way to go that destroys the body. Fire, strong acid, tremendous crushing – something like that. Your brain, especially, is what you want ruined. You don’t want them using it. Understand?”

Will nodded.

“Take care,” the little man said and left.

For several minutes Will stood there in the darkness, his mind reeling. The pieces of meteorite, he now realized, were clues pointing to the Tracium’s location. His father hadn’t been the only one scouring the Steem Museum for it, either. That’s why Bram was there.

The young Rasmussen knew to look for pieces of meteorite, and he obviously had some test he believed would reveal Tracium for what it was, if he ever found it. Will knew he had to get out of this place to warn his family and see that such a thing never happened.

Listening at the doorway, he heard nothing. Maybe he could get back to the kitchen, he thought, and hide in the garbage. Perhaps they’d haul him outside the walls unnoticed, and if he waited until nightfall, he could find a way across the river.