Steampunked Read Free Page B

town, or the fort, all depending.
    The dream floated away as the blonde girl moved down the steps and out of the train. Hickok watched as the porter handed down their bags. He wished he could still see the young girl, but to do that he would have to put his head out the window, and he was old enough that he did not want to appear foolish.
    Goodbye, Little Pretty, he thought. I will think and dream of you often.
    Suddenly he realized that his cheeks were wet with tears. God, but he was unhappy and lonely. He wondered if behind her smiles the young girl might be lonely too.
    He stood and walked toward the light even as the porter reached to turn it out.
    “Excuse me,” Hickok said to the man. “I’d like to get off here.”
    The porter blinked. “Yes sir, but the schedule only calls for three.”
    “I have a ticket for Cherrywood, but I’ve changed my mind, I’d like to get off here.”
    “As you wish, sir.” The porter turned up the lamp. “Best hurry, the train’s starting. Watch your step. Uh, any luggage?”
    “None.”
    Briskly, Hickok stepped down the steps and into the night. The three he had followed were gone. He strained his eyes and saw between a path of cherry trees that they were walking toward the lights of the rail station.
    He turned back to the train. The porter had turned out the light and was no longer visible. The train sang its song. On the roof he saw a ripple of blue-white fulmination jump along the metal fire line. Then the train made a sound like a boiling teapot and began to move.
    For a moment he thought of his wife lying there in their cabin. He thought of her waking in Cherrywood and not finding him there. He did not know what she would do, nor did he know what he would do.
    Perhaps the blonde girl would have nothing to do with him. Or maybe, he thought suddenly, she is married or has a sweetheart already.
    No matter. It was the ambition of her that had lifted him out of the old funeral pyre, and like a phoenix fresh from the flames, he intended to stretch his wings and soar.
    The train gained momentum, lashed shadows by him. He turned his back on it and looked through the cherrywood path. The three had reached the rail station and had gone inside.
    Straightening his collar and buttoning his jacket, he walked toward the station and the pretty blonde girl with a face like a hopeful heart.

The Steam Man of the Prairie and the Dark Rider Get Down

Foreword
    Somewhere out in space the damaged shuttle circled, unable to come down. Its occupants were confused and frightened.
    Forever to the left of the ship was a rip in the sky. And through the rip they saw all sorts of things. Daylight and dark. Odd events.
    And dat ole shuttle jes go’n roun’ and roun’ and roun’.

(1)
    In Search Of
    The shiny steam man, forty feet tall and twenty feet wide, not counting his ten-foot-high conical hat, hissed across the prairie, farted up hills, waded and puffed through streams and rivers. He clanked and clattered. He made good time. His silver metal skin was bright with the sun. The steam from his hat was white as frost. Inside of him, where the four men rode in swaying leather chairs, it was very hot, even with the steam fan blowing.
    But they pushed on, working the gears, valves, and faucets, forever closing on the Dark Rider. Or so they hoped.
    Bill Beadle, captain of the expedition, took off his wool cap and wiped the sweat from his face with an already damp forearm. He tried to do this casually. He did not want the other three to know how near heat exhaustion he was. He took deep breaths, ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, and put his cap back on. The cap was hot, and though there was really nothing official about his uniform or his title of captain, he tried to live by a code that maintained the importance of both.
    Hamner and Blake looked at him casually. They were red-faced and sweat-popped. They shifted uncomfortably in their blue woolen uniforms. Through the stained glass eyes of the