Steampunk Allister Davies
I started this series for my friends in the cosplay group Steampunk Evolution after a discussion about the disastrous state of the world. When I sat down to write, I had no ideas except for an antiwar theme with a time traveling professor. Thus, Allister Davies was born. The series is ongoing, but with no timetable. I treat each chapter as if it were a piece of flash fiction. I write with no ideas in my head and try to pick up where I left off without rereading the previous chapters.
Happy reading.
Steampunk Stories – Allister Davies Eleven – Doppelganger:
01 August 2026
*** Series begins with “Allister Davies One: London Burning” *** Davies recoiled into the chair backing until he nearly toppled it over. He raised his shaking hands as he stared into the barrel of a Beaumont-Adams revolver. Captain Joshua Dyett glared down at him; his blue eyes narrowed down to slits. The hand that held the revolver trembled ever so slightly. He showed no other signs of distress. “You wish to know who I am?” Dyett asked, reaching over the desk to twist the valve of the gaslight lamp. The light in the apartment dimmed to a faint glow. He stepped behind Davies and pointed his revolver at the door. “I am exactly who I said I am.” The door burst open to a chorus of shouts. “What is the meaning of this? On whose authority? Drop your pistol!” “No, you fools, drop your truncheons or the Professor is dead and you will follow him to your graves.” The Beaumont-Adams hovered inches from Davies’ right temple. Dyett crouched behind him, barely more than a sinister shadow. There was just enough light to make out the forms of three men of London’s Constabulary jostling inside the door. One of them spoke. “You will not get away with this! Captain Dyett will never let you leave!” “You are quite mistaken,” Dyett hissed. “Back out the door if you don’t want the good Professor’s blood on your hands. Out!” The men grumbled. One shadowy form detached itself and slipped away. One of the other two spoke again. “You cannot intimidate us!” “You are holding truncheons and I am holding a pistol. You have five seconds to back out the door before I splatter your brains over the wall.” The revolver trembled, Dyett’s breathing came in shallow gasps. The two officers whispered harshly to each other. One lowered his truncheon and began backing out. The other grabbed his arm and told him to hold his ground. They both froze when Dyett spoke again. “I just counted to four.” The twilight cascading in from the window illuminated their terrified faces. One man wrenched his arm free and shouted at the other. He slipped through the door and his colleague followed a moment after, both disappearing into the shadowy corridor. Davies twisted his head to look up at Dyett. “The constable said ‘Captain Dyett will not allow you to leave.’ Who are you?” Dyett thumped a hand on Davies’ shoulder. “Get up, Professor. Walk slowly before me out of the apartment. Keep your hands up at all times and your eyes straight ahead. Let me assure you that we are both leaving Newgate.” Davies swallowed hard. He put a shaking hand on the desk, nearly knocking over the hot tea. He pushed himself to his feet, raised his hands and walked towards the exit. He dared twist his head but was met by a sharp jab in the lower back from the revolver’s barrel. He licked his lips and took shaking steps out into the corridor lit by a single gaslight lamp on the wall. He was met with an awkward scene. Five men of the Constabulary, two holding the jailer who had brought him pleasantries. An additional three officers held their truncheons at their sides, blocking their escape. Behind them stood a slightly built man wearing a top hat and holding a pistol. The man spoke. “Skelm! Unhand the professor and throw down your pistol! How dare you violate the sanctity of Newgate? I will have you hanged for this!” Dyett let out a snicker. “You think I will throw down our dear Beaumont-Adams and face the gallows? Considering how well you know me, you can imagine how unlikely that proposition is. Step aside Dyett, I have places to be.” “How dare you refer to me as an inferior!” the man in the top hat said. Davies squinted at the man behind the Constabulary and gasped. “Good Lord, there are two Captain Dyetts!” “What are you saying, Professor Davies?” the Dyett in front of him said. He shouldered past the officers and into the gaslight. “As you can clearly see, I’m the only Captain Dyett here, governor of Newgate. The man behind you is an imposter!” Davies closed his eyes. His brain sent jarring nerve signals down to his toes. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He opened his eyes and stared at the Dyett before him. “Captain Dyett, as soon as we step into the light you will see that a version of you some years older is standing right behind me.” Dyett the older pushed Davies in the back and they walked forward. The eyes of the constabulary flickered back and forth between the two Dyetts. The false jailer struggled against the two officers that held him and nearly freed himself before one of them slammed a fist into his stomach. The jailer groaned and doubled over. The two constables grabbed his arms and forced him upright. A cry bounced off the walls. “May God save our souls! The professor is right! There are two Captain Dyetts!” Cries filled the narrow corridor as Davies and Dyett the older stood under the gaslight lamp. One of the constables, undoubtedly an Irishman, repeatedly made the sign of the cross. The others waved their truncheons. The younger Captain Dyett stumbled back babbling furiously with a hand on his chest. His Beaumont Adams flailed so wildly that Davies feared he would be struck by a stray lead ball. In the commotion the false jailer managed to break free of the officers. He knocked one of them over and wrenched away his truncheon. “I’m free, Captain Dyett!” “Well done, Percival,” Dyett the older said. “Beat back any man who dares halt our escape.” Dyett the younger suddenly regained his nerve and raised his revolver. “You are going nowhere, foul Doppelganger! I will send you to Hell!” “If you kill me, you kill yourself,” Dyett said. “Lower our beloved pistol if you don’t want the both of us to disappear in a flash.” The younger Dyett hesitated. His eyes flew around the room. The men of the Constabulary trembled with their mouths opening and closing. Dyett the older pushed Davies forward. Percival waved a stolen truncheon, striking an officer on the shoulder. Davies walked only several feet from the younger Dyett. He had the same blue eyes as the older, but his skin was less wrinkled and the hair visible under his top hat was iron grey. Dyett the older pushed Davies along towards a door at the end of the corridor. The younger Dyett watched them unmoving as they neared their escape. Davies cried out. “No! It is not true! If you kill the older Dyett the younger Dyett will still live!” Dyett the older growled and slapped Davies in the back of the head. He pointed his revolver down the centre of the corridor and a deafening shot echoed in their ears. The men in the room threw themselves to the ground, covering their heads. Percival grabbed Davies by the collar and propelled him through the open door. Dyett the older raced through and Percival slammed the door and threw the bolt. Davies was pushed down a flight of stairs by both men, down another corridor and into a small office. Percival threw open a door and they found themselves on a busy London street. “There’s our carriage, Captain Dyett!” Percival cried. “Lord Darkhouse awaits.” END
Steampunk Stories – Allister Davies Ten – Interview:
11 July 2026
*** Series begins with “Allister Davies One: London Burning” *** The keys rattled on the far side of the door. The lock clicked as the heavy mechanism unlatched. A sharp squeak sounded as the handle turned. The door pulled open to a low whine revealing a jailer holding a gaslight lamp and a wooden chair. The man entered, bowed briefly, then took five steps to the desk. He set the lamp on the desktop to a clatter and the chair on the stone floor to a thud. The jailer retreated to the wall, pressed his back against it and kept his gaze straight and level at the empty doorway. “You may leave us,” a raspy voice said from the shadows. “Wait on the outside until I call for you.” “Yessir, Captain Dyett,” the jailer said. He stepped out of the apartment and disappeared into the darkness. Light steps sounded as a slightly built man entered the apartment. He halted until the door shut behind him, then took small steps towards Davies. He was cleanly shaven, sporting only sideburns halfway down his cheek. He wore a black top hat, a white high-collar shirt with a grey waistcoat. His black suit was outdated and worn but cleanly pressed. His lace up boots clicked as he paced through the room. He removed his top hat revealing a bald head and wispy white hair above his ears. He set his top hat on the desk, peeled off his black leather gloves and tossed them next to his hat. The man turned, fixing Davies with cold blue eyes. “Good evening, Professor Davies. My name is Captain Joshua Dyett, governor of Newgate Prison.” Davies stood and bowed stiffly. “Good evening, Captain Dyett.” “I’m sure you are wondering why you are here,” Dyett said. “If I were in your circumstances I would have many questions. But I would know to hold my tongue and answer my superiors to ensure a quick resolution to events. Please sit.” Davies sat and Dyett sat across from him in the chair the jailer brought. Davies stared into the cold blue eyes of the governor, fighting to keep from shouting about the outrage he had suffered. He cleared his throat. “How may I be of service to you, Captain Dyett?” Dyett stared for a moment, then nodded. “Professor Davies, we have come to understand that you are in contact with a known fugitive and treasonous man.” Davies squeezed his still-smoking pipe. “I keep no such company!” “I expected such a response, and I believe your sincerity,” Dyett said. “This is why we have afforded you every courtesy. Your position as a retired professor would not have been enough if we did not believe you were ignorant of the menace this person represents. A person with whom you have spoken with on more than one occasion.” Davies set his pipe aside and shook his head. “Captain Dyett, I can assure you I do not know who you are referring to.” “I am referring to a fellow man of science, Professor Taygeta.” Davies jerked his head back. “I swear on my life I do not know this man!” “Perhaps not under that name, but I’m sure you’ll recognize the description,” Dyett said, his eyes narrowing. “Very tall, slender build, blonde hair, bright blue eyes and a remarkable ability to travel through time.” Davies put a hand to his forehead. “I think I might faint.” “Guard!” Dyett shouted. The door rattled and flew open. The jailer leapt inside brandishing his truncheon. “Captain Dyett sir, are you alright?” “The tea should be ready,” Dyett said, with his eyes on Davies. “Run down and fetch it for us.” “Yessir.” The door slammed and muffled steps hurried away. Davies exhaled slowly. “The Professor is no traitor to the nation.” “Not now, but he will be,” Dyett said. He folded his hands on the desktop. “I will admit, I know little of the particulars, and if I hadn’t seen some strange things in the past years in Newgate I never would have believed in time travel at all.” “Strange things?” “Nothing that I am inclined to discuss, Professor Davies,” Dyett said. “Now let us come to our business. We know that you have met Professor Taygeta secretly on London bridge.” “I have never met any man on London bridge, let alone this Professor!” Dyett sat unblinking. Slowly his right hand reached into his breast pocket and took out a small notepad. He put it to the gaslight and mumbled as he read. “You have spoken truthfully. You have not yet met the Professor from the future on London bridge, but you shall.” Davies pulled on his beard. “What is the meaning of this? Was your question a test?” “This entire affair is a test for London’s Constabulary,” Dyett said. “Captain Dyett, I must bring to your attention that I have not been granted access to a lawyer,” Davies said. He adjusted his jacket and straightened his back in the chair. “Further, I have not committed any crime and I have not been charged as such. Why am I being held and under whose authority?” Three muffled knocks sounded on the door. A muffled voice called out. “Captain Dyett, the tea, sir.” “Come,” Dyett said, loudly, his gaze still on Davies. The door opened and the guard walked into the apartment holding a platter with a small teapot, two empty teacups and a bowl of sugar. He placed it down and retreated, silently shutting the door. The captain poured out two cups of tea, adding a lump of sugar in each. He placed one cup in front of Davies. “I need to know the particulars of the discussions you had with Professor Taygeta.” Davies pushed the cup aside and set his jaw. “On whose authority?” “Professor Davies, look at where you are,” Dyett said, gesturing towards the failing light from the barred window. “This is Newgate, my obscure kingdom. I can make or break a man in seconds. Right now, you have an apartment with many luxuries, including this lamp. I can leave you alone in the dark. I can have you moved to reside with the other inmates, crammed together like sardines in a tin. I can have you interred under Newgate in my darkest cell.” He leaned forward. “Now, tell me about Professor Taygeta’s time machine.” Davies gulped in air. His right leg shook under the table. His brow was slick with sweat. He involuntarily looked down at his pipe and writing implements. The pipe familiar objects had lulled him into thinking he wasn’t truly imprisoned. If the governor wished it, he could put Davies to the crank, have him break rocks, or worse still, throw him into a dank pit never again to see the light of day. A light breeze tickled the sweat on the back of his neck. Would he ever feel the breeze again? He could not count on Edgar Payne pulling him out of Newgate even with all the lawyers in the world at his disposition. If he did not tell the abhorrent captain about Pleadium he would be locked up and the key thrown into the Thames. A faint thought tickled the back of Davies’ mind. He fixed his gaze on Captain Dyett. The captain had asked about Pleadium’s time machine, something Davies had never seen. The captain knew of Pleadium’s time machine, but he knew nothing of the Time Pilgrim. The captain had to refer to notes regarding a meeting on London Bridge that had never taken place, and perhaps would never take place. Davies folded his arms across his chest. “Who are you?” A sound like thunder shook the door. Men shouted and cried out in the hall. Captain Dyett stood and reached into his waistcoat. He turned and pointed a Beaumont-Adams revolver directly at Davies’ chest. END.
Steampunk Stories – Allister Davies Nine – Detention:
13 June 2026
*** Series begins with “Allister Davies One: London Burning” *** The tiny apartment was bare, save for a writing desk, a chair, a small bed and a chamber pot. Luxuries that a common man would not have in prison. The poor were crammed together in overcrowded cells and put to the crank, while the wealthy could bribe their way into small apartments in the governor’s wing like this one. The prison reforms from nearly twenty years ago had banned unfair privileges, but coins in the pocket of the governor still worked their black magic. Allister Davies stared through the window’s iron bars down on the yard below. The inmates had been allowed out for their one hour of exercise under the hard eyes of dozens of guards armed with truncheons. It was an appalling display of oppression. The men wore black and white striped uniforms and scotch caps pulled down with eye slits so small they risked tripping. No words were spoken as the men trudged around in a wide circle. A guard barked at an inmate and rapped him on the back of the knees with his truncheon. The man cried out and stumbled. He was pulled to his feet by four other guards and dragged away. What he had done was a complete mystery. With a sigh Davies turned away from the dreadful spectacle. He sat at the writing desk, opened the drawer and took out an inkwell, paper and quill. He held his monogrammed quill above the inkwell. He hesitated, then set it back down. He reached into the drawer and fished out his pipe, tobacco and matches. Not more than an hour ago a jailer had knocked on the door, asked permission to enter, addressed him as Professor Davies and placed the objects from his private study inside the desk drawer. The jailer had even bowed before taking his leave. Undoubtedly, Davies had Edgar Payne to thank for the small luxuries and favourable treatment. The match flared to life. Davies put the small flame to the pipe’s bowl and swirled it over the tobacco. He took small sips of air from the pipe’s lip until the char formed. He set the pipe down and tamped firmly before igniting a second match. He puffed and rotated the flame until cool smoke filled his mouth. He exhaled and the room was filled with the scent of cherry, vanilla and rum. He leaned back and puffed slowly, letting his eyes unfocus as he stared at the blank stone wall. What had happened? Though there had been no time to speak with Payne and Pleadium before his arrest, he could only assume it was due to the latter that he found himself in Newgate Prison. But why? And how could London’s constabulary have known that he had installed the inscribed crystal in the automaton? He hadn’t spoken to anyone about it, not even with Payne. He had never allowed anyone into his workshop unless the automaton was in its place against the wall, falsely supported by chains and silent. He could not fathom how Pleadium could have been discovered. Whatever the reason for his arrest, Davies was certain it was unlawful. He was a distinguished, retired professor that had committed no crime. He had not seen a lawyer, nor had he been informed of his rights. He had been brought to Newgate in a stinking Black Maria and had barely managed to state his name to the prison governor before being told to remain silent. The steely old man had promised he would be treated with every courtesy, but was expected to cooperate fully. He had been marched to this small apartment several hours ago and had not seen anyone save the jailer who had brought him his courtesies. He could not say he had been mistreated, but neither could accept the outrage. A plume of smoke drifted up to the ceiling. Long shadows crept down from the iron barred window and inched across the floor. Soon it would be dark. Would they leave him without a gaslight? It seemed preposterous to think that they would, yet it was even more preposterous to think that he had been imprisoned. A distinguished retired professor of physics with no debts inside Newgate. He could not hope it was a case of mistaken identity. There was no chance of his doppelganger appearing to take his place. Pleadium bloomed in his mind. What could the tall, blonde scientist represent to the authorities? Knowledge, perhaps. Perhaps the constabulary thought the physicist had inventions that could be of use to them. Some fancy piece of technology from the future could be worth a small fortune. Governments were always keen on getting their mitts on anything which could give them the edge against other nations. Without a doubt the Crown was still digesting the bitter pill of having lost the American colonies nearly a century ago. Perhaps that is what they wanted from Pleadium, something that could help them win a new war. Davies started. Could his imprisonment be due to the Time Pilgrim? Could it be related to what he saw in June, 2050? Only Payne knew of the Time Pilgrim and only the two of them had ever used it to travel. They had been in complete agreement that time travel had to be kept a secret until they fully understood the workings of the machine. Payne had been adamant that the Time Pilgrim be used sparingly to ensure neither went mad. Since his last trip to visit Pleadium, Davies had not used it at all and had only fired up the boiler to ensure the repairs had been successful. Davies didn’t need the Time Pilgrim to drive himself mad, he could go completely insane asking himself countless questions. What did the authorities know? What would they ask him? Would he be tried? Did they know he had time traveled and met the tall, blonde scientist in 2040? Did they know that a part of Pleadium’s essence was in the inscribed crystal? He never should have returned to visit the scientist from the future. In a certain sense, Davies had violated his own rule not to meet anyone who’s lifetime could span the time in which he traveled. With Pleadium he had done exactly that, albeit in a curious way. But to be fair to himself he never could have known that the inscribed crystal was also Pleadium. Payne was right, the Time Pilgrim would fry a man’s brain, one way or another. If it didn’t drive a man mad through frequent trips, it would do so with too many unanswerable questions. Some days Davies still couldn’t believe he had even traveled through time at all. But Payne had often traveled with him and the inscribed crystal was physical proof, along with the rascal Aldebaran. He couldn’t help wondering what had possessed him to build the Time Pilgrim. A work that had taken his entire university career. A work that challenged the very fabric of the Universe. A dull thud came from the hall followed by hushed voices. The lock clicked and clunked and the door swung wide open. End.
Steampunk Stories: Allister Davies Eight - Raid:
02 May 2026
*** Series begins with “Allister Davies One: London Burning” *** The marble sized crystal spheres had taken the jeweller three weeks to craft. Allister Davies had returned twice to have them polished further, and once to have them rebuffed. Each time they were tested with external wires that ran over the workbench to the head casing of the automaton. Only when Pleadium was satisfied did Davies proceed with their installation. The clear crystal spheres fit snugly in the eye sockets, giving an ethereal quality to the automaton. They were held in place by copper retainer clips with dozens of wires that connected to the inscribed crystal. “Wonderful work Allister, I can see sufficiently!” Pleadium exclaimed. He turned his head around the room and squawked out a metallic chuckle. “My goodness! Look at that rascal Aldebaran sleeping next to your stove! I dare say he hasn’t changed a bit.” “Yes, that has been his favourite place all winter,” Davies said, smiling at the orange tabby. “I don’t think he’s caught a mouse in the last week.” “He always had a bit of a lazy streak to him,” Pleadium said. He thumped towards Aldebaran and stood over him. The cat opened his eyes, meowed, and promptly fell back asleep. “Only hunger drives him to hunt. A genuine rascal if ever there was one!” Davies cleared his throat. “Yesterday we were discussing your ubiquitousness.” “That is an inexact understanding of my state, but for now it is sufficient,” Pleadium said. “It is a complicated matter that requires far more than mathematics to understand.” “Will you explain it to me?” Pleadium’s crystal eyes pulsed. “There are more important things for you to understand first.” “Such as?” “Allister, you are very different from other humans,” Pleadium said. “When we first met in my humanoid form, I spoke with you, thus you saw my lips moving. But my lips did not move. I know that you understood that in fact I never uttered a single word to communicate.” Davies bowed his head. “I did not want to believe it.” “But you understood that I projected an image of my lips moving in your mind,” Pleadium said. “Every other human that I have met believed that I was speaking with my lips even when I chose to communicate telepathically. Yet you knew immediately that I was transmitting my thoughts and not speaking them.” Davies closed his eyes. He put his fingers to his temples and massaged them slowly. “I don’t know how I knew it. I could see your lips moving and I could hear the sound of your voice as if you spoke. Then suddenly I understood that it was not the case. One moment I thought you were standing, speaking and gesticulating, the next moment I realized that you were sitting very still and sending your thoughts to me.” “It is highly unusual,” Pleadium said. “Normally a single human cannot detect this. I have been told by my similars that others humans have detected it, but none I have ever spoken with. Only when there have been groups with a human like you has it been possible for them to understand I was speaking telepathically.” “Why?” “I believe it has to do with how humans experience the constructs of reality,” Pleadium said. “I believe that you require the validation of your peers to accept extraordinary experiences. Without that validation, virtually all humans will refute the extraordinary no matter its veracity.” “Perhaps,” Davies mused. “I am not a mental philosopher.” “Perhaps not, but you possess an extraordinary quality.” Davies raised an eyebrow. “Which is?” “Fearlessness,” Pleadium said. “You felt no fear during our communication. My species often causes unease if not full fear in humans. This is why we limit our contact when we study you.” “Why are you studying us?” “Why does one study anything if not to learn the truths of his own soul?” “The soul,” Davies said with a grimace. “That is something I have not contemplated for some time.” “When we met you most certainly did consider it,” Pleadium said. “You’ll forgive me if I pried, but it was difficult not to access your deepest thoughts as you pulled them from the aether.” Davies frowned. “From the aether, you say? That is not possible. Human thoughts reside in the brain. The phrenologists are quite adamant on that point.” “A mistake made by your newfound scientific religions,” Pleadium said. “Only your current thoughts reside in the brain. Memories do not.” “How can that be?” Davies said. “Surely I cannot be pulling in thoughts like a man sucking in a breath of air.” “Interesting description and not too far from the truth.” Aldebaran meowed loudly. He uncoiled from his napping state and jumped up on his legs. His ears flicked as his green eyes surveyed the door. Moments later Edgar Payne’s panicked voice arrived in fits and screeches. “Davies! Davies, man! Are you there?” The door burst open and Payne charged in, pale and with a film of sweat on his face. He clutched his chest and took a deep breath. “Davies, the constabulary has invaded the University grounds looking for you!” Davies started. “What? Why would they be looking for me at all, let alone at the University?” “Quite clearly they have outdated information and do not know that you have retired,” Payne said. He reached into his breast pocket, took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. He jerked the handkerchief towards the automaton. “Have you got this pile of rusty metal doing new tricks?” “Good day to you, Professor Payne,” Pleadium said. “Good Lord, it speaks!” Payne cried. He stumbled backwards and crashed into the work bench. Aldebaran hissed, leapt to the floor and scampered across the room to disappear behind the Time Pilgrim. “Davies, don’t tell me you’ve been dabbling in the dark arts!” “I thought you didn’t believe in sorcery,” Davies said. “Naturally I do not! Of course I don’t! I am a man of scientific inclination!” Payne said, cringing before Pleadium. “But the automaton spoke words no different than my own. It said my name!” “Professor Payne, I think a brief explanation is in order,” Pleadium said. “Good Lord, what madness is this?” Payne cried, making the sign of the cross over his head. “I will have to return to my mother and beg to be brought back into the Catholic faith! Where’s an exorcist when you need one?” “Professor Payne, there is no need to be alarmed,” Pleadium said. “Please allow me to speak. I believe I have little time to explain who I am before the authorities arrive. Suffice it to say I am a friend. I regret to say that I know the reason why they are seeking Professor Davies. Professor Payne, we will require your assistance.” A whistle shrieked once, then a second time. A booming voice called out from the other side of the laboratory door. “Professor Allister Davies! Professor Allister Davies! Metropolitan London Constabulary!” A group of blue-clad bobbies wearing custodian helmets threw the door open and stormed into the laboratory brandishing truncheons. A thickset, man with a red mustache stepped lumbered towards Davies holding a piece of paper out before him. “Professor Davies, I’m Sergeant Brian O’Malley. You must come with me to the station. In the name of Queen Victoria, you are under arrest.” *** END
Steampunk Stories: Allister Davies Seven - Automaton:
11 April 2026
*** Series begins with "Allister Davies One: London Burning" *** The automaton opened its eyes. The roughly painted blues irises stared straight ahead. The mechanical wonder tilted its smooth, burnished head upwards and looked at the ceiling. Slowly, with an audible squeak it looked left, then right. The neck stuttered downward and the head tilted to look at the speechless Allister Davies. “I am completely sightless,” a garbled, metallic voice said from the stationary bronze mouthpiece. “Good Lord, it speaks!” Davies cried. He stumbled back and raised a hand. “What are you?” “I can barely make out your words, Professor Davies,” the automaton said. “From the vibrations that my crystal sensors can detect I deduce that you have constructed a reasonable facsimile of the human outer ear, but nothing of the middle and inner ear. Am I correct?” Davies licked his lips and whispered. “You know who I am.” “I believe you just spoke, Professor, but you will need to increase your volume and enunciate clearly. The inscribed crystal can only do so much with the mechanical parts that are installed before it.” “You know who I am!” Davies shouted. “Much better,” the automaton said. “But there is no need to shout. The sound waves distort in the outer ear canal. It will be sufficient for you to speak above regular pitch until we sort out my eyes and ears. The other senses may be too complex for the technology available in 1870.” “Who are you?” “You haven’t guessed?” the automaton asked in a rising, tinny pitch. “Why, Pleiadium, of course.” Davies lumbered to the liquor cabinet and muttered over his shoulder. “No, no, no. This cannot be.” He poured himself half a glass of blended whisky and stared at the motionless automaton. He gulped down a mouthful, cleared his throat and shouted. “I said, ‘this cannot be’!” “I know you are struggling to reconcile the being you saw in the flesh with the one encased in metals, but soon enough I will explain the physics to you,” Pleiadium said. “Before that I need to understand my current constraints and determine what improvements can be made. As things stand, the crystal I’m channeling through is struggling to comprehend the world I’m in.” “As am I!” “In due time, Professor,” Pleiadium said. He raised an arm and lowered it. He took a step forward and the block and tackle pulled taut. “My movements seem hampered.” “I will remove the chain,” Davies shouted. He took a few haltering steps and stopped when his eyes fell on the tabby on the workbench, gently tapping Pleiadium’s hand with a paw. “The cat seems to like you.” “There is a cat? What kind of cat?” “An orange tabby I brought back from London in 2050,” Davies said, unlatching the block and tackle. “Aldebaran!” Pleiadium’s garbled voice exclaimed. His voice modulated into a rough, metallic purr and the tabby responded by meowing back. “Aldebaran, you rascal! What a joy to encounter you again. Fascinating that you have found your way to the Professor.” “This is your cat?” “As much as a cat can belong to any other entity,” Pleadium responded. “They are remarkably independent creatures and capable of subtle telepathy. When they choose to communicate, which is frustratingly infrequent.” “I cannot believe it,” Davies said. “You can speak in the cat’s mind?” “Words are not used in the conventional sense,” Pleadium said. “And at the moment, no such communication is possible. I believe you have applied a lead carbonate pigment to the structure that contains the crystal. With the current shielding, any form of telepathy will be blocked.” “Yes, I used lead paint in the inside of the casing to resist moisture,” Davies said with his eyes on the tabby. “Aldebaran, the orange star. A fitting name.” “A name I used for the benefit of the humans,” Pleadium said. “He was hardly more than a kitten in 2040, so he must be eleven years old now. Is he well?” “When I found him in June, 2050, he was in a rather dire state,” Davies said. “Now he is quite the portly example. I think I’ve given him too many fatty scraps from the table.” “Indulgence is typical of your species,” Pleadium said. He raised and lowered both arms. “I would like to take a few steps to understand the limits of the automaton. Is the area clear for me to walk?” “You can walk approximately ten paces in a straight line,” Davies said. He looked at the twin armchairs and the companion smoking table. “Though eight paces should suffice for you to understand the mechanical limits.” “Agreed,” Pleadium said. He raised the automaton’s left leg and took a clunking step before pulling the right leg aside it. He took seven more steps, alternating the left and right leg before stopping one pace from the smoking table. “Though I cannot feel in a mammalian sense, the back pressure on the hydraulics is sufficient to understand the springing motion of the steps and control the gait.” He turned awkwardly, taking small, knocking steps in a circle. “But much work needs to be done to the gears and levers.” “I apologize that it is insufficient,” Davies said with a grimace. “No need for apologies,” Pleadium responded. “You work thus far has been excellent.” He flexed his hands. “The four fingers work together contraposed to the thumb as if they were clamps. I will be unable to make any improvements myself, Professor Davies. I will require your hands to craft the crystal eyes and the middle ear for me.” “It would be an honour,” Davies said. “And please call me Allister.” “Allister, then,” Pleadium said. The cat meowed loudly. “I cannot understand the nuances of Aldebaran’s call with these auditory receivers. What is the rascal doing?” “He is at your feet, rubbing against your ankle.” “He wants to be cuddled, something I am unable to do at the moment,” Pleadium said. “My goodness, how I missed him dropping dead rats at my door.” Davies reached down, picked up Aldebaran and held him up to Pleadium’s ear. “If you cannot communicate telepathically with the cat, how can he know who you are?” “A very good question, Allister,” Pleadium said. “I would guess that he is either able to overcome the lead paint, or he can capture my incoming thoughts.” “Incoming thoughts,” Davies whispered. “Pardon me?” “I said, ‘incoming thoughts’,” Davies shouted, wincing. “I do not have the slightest inkling of how you are able to communicate through a crystal, let alone understand how the cat knows who you are.” “We have much to discuss, but for now let us move on to technical matters,” Pleadium said. “I will require some form of sight before anything else. Direct me to your writing desk so that I may dictate the materials we will need.” “I have a ledger on the smoking table.” “Very good then, please take note.” Davies scribbled until he felt his arm would drop off. The list of materials, notes, and sketches he made under the blind eyes of Pleadium was bewildering. Some of the materials he had never even heard of and wasn’t sure he would find them. The sketches he made of the inner ear resembled a tangle of squids. Pleadium relayed instructions so intricate that it seemed like something he had built a thousand times before, yet this was only his first time in the workshop. Or was it? END
Steampunk Stories: Allister Davies Six: Inscribed Crystal:
14 March 2026
*** Series begins with "Allister Davies One: London Burning" *** The tools were like grain stems and kernels in his gnarled hands. The delicate instruments necessary for the installation of the inscribed crystal were in stark contrast to the large tools that Allister Davies used to maintain the Time Pilgrim. For two days his creaking hands held tiny screwdrivers and minute keys instead of clunky spanners and large hammers. Rather than heaving and wrenching he spent the morning delicately turning screw heads and threading copper wires. The installation and connection of the inscribed crystal brain required a subtlety his hands were not accustomed to. His calloused fingers cramped as they coaxed tiny wires into miniscule indentations. Davies frowned at the first page of the schematic Pleadium had provided for the inscribed crystal. ‘DO NOT INSTALL’. Written in a fine hand under the block print were the words: ‘unless you are Allister Davies.’ When Davies had received the schematics, he hadn’t noticed this script. What surprised him most about reading these words was the improbability that they could have been written at all. When Plediaum had handed him the inscribed crystal and schematics, he did not have a steel-point pen in hand. Thus, the extraordinarily tall, blond physicist had known that Davies would arrive. Incredibly, the young man had been waiting for him. Davies could only deduce that the two had met before and decided on the encounter, even if he had no recollection of it. The teakettle whistled and Davies set down his miniscule tools. His tired steps brought him to the wood burning stove next to a small counter with drawers. He lifted the kettle by its wooden handle and placed it on a ceramic coaster, silencing the shrill squealing which had disturbed the cat. He smiled at the orange tabby when it looked at him for a fleeting moment. The cat closed its eyes and returned to dozing next to the stove. It was cold in the workshop and the small heat source did little to heat the surroundings. He put his hands over the burner and rubbed them slowly. Davies poured himself his favourite blend of Earl Grey in an old teacup. He uncorked a quart and added a splash of milk. He brought the cup to his lips, hesitated and set it back down. He reached for the sugar behind the tabby and spooned in a hefty dose. He stirred slowly, his eyes on the cat. He still hadn’t named it and he wondered if it even mattered. The cat came and went as it pleased, clearly at home in the workshop. It had barely stirred despite the strident whistle of the kettle. It napped next to the wooden stove without a care in the world. What it thought Davies couldn’t imagine, but the more time he spent with the cat from the future the more he believed they were in tune. Davies blew on the tea and took a sip, wincing as it scalded his tongue. He leaned on the rough counter and looked at the automaton with the inscribed crystal brain from the future. The wiring was nearly complete. He had been at it for almost two days, carefully double checking each minute connection. He still had no idea how it could possibly function. Before Davies had installed the crystal inside the skull casing, he had inspected it with a microscope. Other than the hundreds of concave indentations, he saw nothing but the smoothest crystal. Though Pleadium had likened it to a human brain, the inscribed crystal looked nothing like one. It was an oval the size of his fist with a flattened area at the base. If it hadn’t been given to him by the tall physicist, he would have guessed it to be some fortune teller’s parlour trick. The empty tea cup trembled in his hand. Davies rested it softly next to the sleeping tabby. He plodded back to the automaton and picked up the fine tools. He stepped up onto the small platform and squinted down at the inscribed crystal inside the skull casing. He glanced at the schematics for a moment and began connecting the last of the wires with delicate movements. How they managed to hold fast to the concave latching points without screws was yet another mystery. When the wire terminal was put in exactly the right spot at a specific angle it held itself. To remove it he found it needed more than just a gentle tug. The wires seemed to be gripped by some strange magnetic charge; something that should be impossible with a crystal. With the last wire in place, Davies rolled back his shoulders and sighed. He stepped off the raised platform and set the tools on the workbench. For a moment he looked at the automaton with its tin eyelids closed. He shook his head and reached for the fine tools. He gathered them into his suede satchel and put them inside a wooden case next to the work bench. He reached for the top of the skull casing and fitted it firmly. His mundane spanners fastened down the bolts on the oakum lining until not a sliver of light could slip through. A set of notes on the schematics had been circled in red ink; ‘any light will interfere with the inscribed crystal’. Another mystery. The chest-housing door of the automaton opened with a creak. The compact steam engine’s water tank was bone dry. Davies filled it to the maximum level, adjusted the safety valve and rested a hand on the steam regulator coupling. He disconnected the camshaft from it and wrinkled his brow. The camshaft was designed for pre-programmed movements, but for the first time he would use the automatic setting. He twisted the steam regulator dial to ‘automatic’ and locked it in place. He opened the hydraulic valve and water filled the copper tubes that ran to the valve gear train. Pressurized water would drive the cascading gears which powered the limbs and the head. In previous experiments the automaton had been able to walk, clumsily grasp objects and once it had lifted a two-hundred-pound gear shaft off the floor. However, it had dropped it before setting it on the bench. Fine movements had always been impossible. Davies lit the pilot flame of the gaslight tank under the small water boiler. He slowly opened the valve from the gas tank until the burn chamber roared. His hand twisted the serpentine valve to the water boiler and he set his ear to it until it gurgled. He linked the small rotary generator to the boiler. It was impossible to know how much power would be needed, so he adjusted the rotor to spin at one thousand five hundred revolutions per minute. He could only hope it would provide the necessary spark to the inscribed crystal brain without causing any damage. His hand swung the automaton’s chest cavity door shut. He clamped down the three latches. The orange tabby leapt on to the workbench. The cat had been sleeping peacefully until the moment the automaton’s chest began to quietly hum. But a quiet murmur to his half-deaf ears could have been a roar to the cat. The tabby did not offer his head for cuddles, instead its green eyes were fixed on the automaton. The chest cavity resonated with a rhythmic thrum and steam hissed from the escape valve on the back of its shoulder. The humanoid machine remained completely motionless, just as the cat watching it. Davies hoped to see arms or legs in motion, but it was perfectly still. Had the pre-programmed camshaft been in place, by now the automaton would have moved its head. He looked at his pocket watch and frowned. He waited another full five minutes and his frown deepened. Just as Davies reached a hand towards his metal creation, the cat mewed and the automaton opened its eyes. END
Steampunk Stories – Allister Davies Five: Echoes:
14 February 2026
*** Series begins with "Allister Davies One: London Burning" *** Each tick of the grandfather clock tunneled deeper into his mind. Professor Allister Davies was hard of hearing, yet somehow the metallic, rhythmic thumping could invade his ears from the far side of the workshop. The ticking had been soothing during the maintenance of the Time Pilgrim with mathematician Edgar Payne, but now it was a torment. Perhaps it was not the ticking that bothered him but the reminder of the box that sat on the table next to the eight-foot-tall timepiece. Inside the box was the inscribed crystal brain given to him by Pleiadium. And next to that, hanging from a block and tackle, was the automaton with an empty skull casing. Davies poured single malt whisky into two snifters. He put the bottle back on the shelf and walked to Payne who languished in one of the two armchairs. “Each decision I take is fraught with peril,” Davies said as he handed the glass to Payne. “It is like the sands of time have filled my head. The coarse grains mill away my conclusions until there is nothing left but dust. With fragmented thoughts I can accomplish nothing. None of my actions bring about change. I sometimes wonder if war is inevitable no matter what I do.” Payne rubbed a hand over his face. “My good man, did you even sleep last night?” “You aren’t listening to me, Payne,” Davies said. “On the contrary, I am listening to you very closely,” Payne said in a rising pitch. “What do you mean by ‘war is inevitable no matter what I do’? What have you been doing?” Davies turned his back to Payne. His eyes fell on the Time Pilgrim, silent and stoic inside its Faraday cage. He turned back to look at the mathematician. “Experimenting.” Payne leapt to his feet, spilling his whiskey. “Don’t tell me you’ve tried to make changes to the course of history! I haven’t assessed the probabilities of disaster should you intervene! I have no intention of spending my nights calculating which of your foolish attempts is least likely to destroy us!” “London will be destroyed.” “You don’t know that!” “I have made many trips only to see the same results,” Davies said. “Your Ripple Theorem is wrong.” “It is not wrong!” Payne shouted. “You can’t expect a theorem to give you a definitive answer to an instance of time travel. You could have traveled countless times without even knowing it, pushing events off and back on course! The Allister Davies that will be one minute from now may not be the Allister Davies that is standing right in front of me.” Payne brought the empty snifter to his lips and grimaced. He strode to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a generous dose. “All of this gives me a headache. We’ll lose our minds if we continue time traveling.” He walked back and stopped a foot from Davies. “I for one will not step back into the Time Pilgrim.” “I know it well.” “Then you should know enough to recognize that I’m right,” Payne snapped. He sighed and put a hand on Davies’ arm. “It’s time to put this to rest. We don’t know what will come to pass in 2050 and zipping through time won’t give you the answer.” “Then you admit your Ripple Theorem is invalid,” Davies said. “You know that if I cast a stone in a pond today no ripple will change tomorrow.” “I admit no such thing,” Payne said through his teeth. “I say that we cannot know what other events have taken place to seemingly put Time back on its original course which shows London burning each time you visit. One event could have pushed the disaster off course and another event could have pushed it back again. No different than a squall at sea.” “I’ve been trying to understand what happened,” Davies said. He sat heavily in his armchair. “The future destruction of London cannot be only a matter of advanced technology. Since before the days of the Roman Empire entire stone cities had been razed to the ground with little more than flaming pitch and battering rams. There is something else at work here. Something evil.” Payne sat across from Davies. “A lot of large cannons would be more than enough to destroy any city. There is no need to look for a supernatural cause.” Davies shook his head. “That is not what I meant. During my travels I happened upon another terrible event in 1941. England will go to war with the Germans, if you can believe it.” Payne started and nearly spilled his whisky a second time. “We will go to war against the Germans? Which of the Prussian states?” “All of them. They will be united in 1941.” “So old Bismark and Emperor William did it, eh?” Payne said. “I guess that means the German Confederation defeated the Second French Empire. What happened? Or will happen—damn, it’s confusing to talk about the future when you’ve already seen it. Did Bismark keep expanding into the 1900s and decided to conquer us?” “The Germans will go to war with much of Europe on two occasions,” Davies said with a wave of his hand. “But that is not the topic of our discussion. In 1941 London had already been bombed from above for many months, and though seriously damaged, she had not been razed to the ground.” Payne frowned. “From above? You mean airships dropping fire bombs? Or some sort of a new balloon technology?” “No, with fixed winged crafts much faster than what we can put up in the sky,” Davies said. “In the future they will have petroleum fueled engines with propellers mounted on the nose or wings.” Payne gasped. “Tell me about them, man! How big were they? What sized crew commanded them?” “That is not the topic of our discussion,” Davies grumbled. “I traveled to other times to search for the cause of the malady which will destroy our dear London.” “You’ve taken too many risks and you will lose your mind with these travels,” Payne said. He frowned. “And 1941 is too close to our own time. I can’t even imagine the Echo Event if you were to encounter yourself.” “In 1941 I’ll be long dead.” “Yes, I suppose the Allister Davies sitting across from me will be dead,” Payne mused with distant eyes. “What if our travels have left some sort of echo? I haven’t completed the math for an Echo Event. What if we are still out there?” “Payne, we’ve returned each time.” “Yes, but what if you and I are still out there traveling right now?” The grandfather clock ticked heavily. Metallic beats filled the room. Davies sank into his chair. His colleague was probably right. For some time, Davies had suspected that time travel did not end when the traveler returned. Countless other future travels with themselves could be taking place even as they sat across from each other. Travels with other Allister Davies and Edgar Paynes back and forth through time. He had even considered the possibility that there was an even younger Davies time traveling. He thought he had only recently built the Time Pilgrim, but what if that wasn’t true? Often he had woken up at night, thinking he had heard someone whisper in his ear. And the next morning his head was filled with ideas about constructing the Time Pilgrim. Had he imagined it, or had some other Allister Davies whispered to him the construction details of the Time Pilgrim? And if that were true, who had whispered the plans to that other Allister Davies? The orange cat meowed and Davies nearly dropped his glass. The tabby leapt into his lap and looked up at him with timeless, feline eyes. The cat circled three times and settled into his lap. Davies looked at Payne as he scratched the portly cat behind the ears. Payne seemed anguished. His handsome features were pale and drawn. For a moment Davies wanted to shut off his mind and forget the destruction of London. He closed his eyes and listened to the cat purr. END.
Steampunk Stories – Allister Davies Four: Pleiadium:
02 August 2025
*** Series begins with "Allister Davies One: London Burning" *** The steam hissed through a chattering pipe like a king cobra. Professor Allister Davies slammed the lever down and stumbled out of the Faraday Cage. Blue lightning flashed around him like sniggering banshees. He lumbered as quickly as his decrepit legs could carry him. He rounded the Time Pilgrim and reached to the top of the steam boiler. With a rag in his hand, he pulled the release valve. A white cloud ballooned out of the top steam stack and slowly dissipated. The blue lighting suddenly ceased, leaving only the smell of ozone. Davies knelt in front of the tube and frowned. A pipe thread lock had come loose. It was time for a complete maintenance of the Time Pilgrim. Scheduled controls and repairs were fundamental for the Time Pilgrim, more so than any other of his inventions. Davies cursed himself for his neglect. He had spent too many frivolous days meandering about London and drinking in cafes. Worse still, he had begun drinking cognac while reworking the Ripple Theorem. He had turned it on its head. His obsession to solve the plight of London in 2050 would not abate. It was a constant torment. Davies had been unable to understand how nine trips to the future had always shown him the same catastrophe. Not a single change. It was like the disaster had been prophesied and then sculpted into eternal stone. But another idea had come to Davies. He could ask for help. Not from Edgar Payne, but from the theoretical physicist he had met in 2040. He had made the trip only once, and that had been before his first trip to 2050. In that London there was strife, but no war. The city was intact though the physicist had spoken to him about a great sadness. It had been all so curious to Davies. The chance encounter with the young, blond and extraordinarily tall scientist. His strange cadence and piercing blue eyes seemed otherworldly. And his mastery of mathematics was far beyond Davies’ abilities to comprehend. The most peculiar fact was that this physicist did not seem shocked by Davies’ arrival. It was as though he had been expecting him. The physicist from the future did not use any title. He offered only one name; Pleiadium. Though it seemed Latin, it was a name completely unfamiliar to Davies. But the conversations with Pleiadium were so enamoring that Davies quickly forgot the strangeness of it all. When Davies told the physicist he struggled with the concept of time, Pleiadium told him to imagine the entire universe as a giant bubble. In the centre of the bubble was Davies himself. Wherever he looked, Davies was to imagine the future and the past. Up, down, left and right. Behind him the past, in front of him the future. It had all happened, it was happening, and it would all happen. Davies felt as though he had inhaled mercury vapours. Davies had questioned Pleiadium about the paradoxes in time travel and wondered how he hadn’t stumbled into one. The tall, blonde man said perhaps Davies already had, but hadn’t realized it. When he pressed Pleiadium on the matter the physicist waved his hand in front of a piece of glass, which to Davies’ astonishment suddenly came alive. The glass showed a three-dimensional view of illustrations that walked and talked and seemed just as alive as him. Davies could only assume it was a sort of advanced Kineograph. Through an astounding explanation, Pleiadium demonstrated that other time travelers may have already changed the past, but it would be impossible for any human to know. The conversation with Pleiadium had been a jolt to his mind. Before Davies ignited the steam boilers to return to London, 1870, Pleiadium had given him a gift. An inscribed crystal that was like a synthetic brain. He had provided Davies with a simple schematic in order to install it inside the automaton. But he had warned Davies that it was not to be shown to anyone. It contained knowledge that was forbidden to humans. He said he was trusting Davies with its safekeeping and one day he would return to reclaim it. Yet another enigma. A tool clattered to the ground and Davies came out of his daydream. He swept up the key and tightened down the pipe thread lock. Davies grabbed an overhanging tube and with a groan he pulled himself up. He was too old for this manual labour. He would need to ask Payne to assist him with the repairs. The clock showed it was nearly ten. Soon Payne would in the workshop to see him. There would be no time to risk another trip to ask Pleiadium what could be done for London. He could theoretically return before Payne arrived, but the Time Pilgrim was very fickle with minutes. The tabby meowed with disapproval. Davies had forgotten to fill its bowl with fish. He lumbered to his ice box and removed a choice piece. The orange and white cat purred out its approval. Davies watched his furry friend chew contentedly. The cat’s coat had thickened and its body had filled out. The tabby was decidedly more in health. Its eyes were sharp. The cat’s desire to hunt was thankfully less vigorous now that it ate regularly. Davies had tired of finding decapitated rats at his door. The clock struck ten. But Davies did not think of Payne, he thought again of Pleiadium. The young man’s vast knowledge about time seemed impossible. He lived one hundred seventy years in the future; thus, it was reasonable to assume that mankind had made great strides in physics and mathematics. Yet there was something transcendental about his knowledge. Pleiadium had been perfectly calm when the Time Pilgrim had materialized in his laboratory. Somehow, he had been ready and able to answer every question. But the greatest mysteries of their dialogue revolved around a single word. The use of that word plagued Davies. What did the physicist mean when he said that the past may have already been changed but humans wouldn’t know? Why was knowledge in the inscribed crystal forbidden to humans? And most disturbingly, why did Pleiadium speak about humans in the third person, as though he were not part of mankind? END.
Steampunk Stories – Allister Davies Three: Reflections:
12 July 2025
*** Series begins with "Allister Davies One: London Burning" *** The weeks since his return from June 2050 had been long and lazy. Professor Allister Davies had indeed joined mathematician Edgar Payne and his young wife Agnes for walks to admire the new buildings of the Victorian age. They picnicked in Hyde Park and fed the ducks. They spent evenings dining, playing chess and drinking too much cognac. After dinner Agnes would encourage Davies saying he was not too old to marry. He would thank her profusely but refuse any arranged meetings with spinsters and widows. Then Payne and Davies would retire to the study to discuss theorems and consider mathematical problems. It was all lovely. Yet the inventor was restless. The only place he truly felt at ease was in his atelier. It was both a workshop and fortress that guarded his brain. When Davies laboured his mind was protected from invading thoughts. Thoughts that arrived from the 14th of June, 2050. Were those thoughts from the future or the present? He tormented himself with the conundrum. Nine visits always to the same date and time in the future. When he arrived in the future it was his present. He dared not slip into Vedic philosophy when he had tools in his hand. The sightless gaze of the automaton seemed to watch his every action. Davies took a deep breath to clear his head. The tools clattered on the bench. The eyes of the inventor were lost and his hair stood on end. Davies thought of his most daring visit. It had been his seventh. He had wandered around the demolished homes at the edge of London central. Stumbling people with vacant eyes took no notice of him. He stood in the rubble of a street corner and observed the citizens picking through the debris. Davies wasn’t sure what they were looking for. There was no food or water. The strange rifles they pulled out of the wreckage were bent and burned and seemed unsalvageable. As he returned to the Time Pilgrim he crossed gazes with a young man. He stopped and stared at Davies. The young man looked from his top hat down to his ankle boots. He approached Davies and commented on his peculiar suit. Davies had rehearsed a speech for just such an occurrence. He said he was a theatre actor hoping to bring a moment of joy in desperate times. The man seemed convinced and complimented him on his archaic accent. Davies rushed off claiming he was needed for rehearsal. When Davies approached the Time Pilgrim, there were two young children poking about. He asked them to step back. They asked if Davies had any spare food. The inventor felt crushed when he told them he had nothing. He emptied his pockets to prove it. The children nodded and looked at him without anger. Davies remembered the overwhelming feeling of impotence that wrenched his innards. The feeling of hopelessness at the situation. They stood dumbfounded as Davies flicked levers and set dials. They ran shrieking with the machine steamed to life. Davies continued to chide himself. He should not have stayed so long nor wandered so far. The fingers of the automaton opened and closed deftly. It was a merited reward for his technical work. In the last test he had screwed down the gears too tight. The unthinking machine was now capable of simple, repetitive tasks. It could stand next to Davies and hand him his tools again and again in perfect cadence. It was exactly what Davies didn’t need. But what he wanted he feared to put into practice. In theory he needed only to install an inscribed crystal which would function as the automaton’s brain. It had been gifted to him by a scientist during a trip he made to 2040. He still hasn’t found the courage to test it. The tabby meowed. Davies looked down into its green eyes. He had found the cat in the same spot his first three trips to 2050. It was on his third trip that Davies took a piece of fish out of a handkerchief. The two had become fast friends. When Davies had set himself at the pulpit the mangy orange and white cat leapt up and meowed. It rubbed his head on Davie’s forearm. He could have scared it off. Instead, he picked the cat up as he threw the steam lever and brought the bewildered cat back with him. He hadn’t been entirely honest with his friend Payne. The tabby could never have been lost to the Travel Kaleidoscope because Davies had ensured it would not happen. He had gripped the cat and held his scratching and hissing as the rainbows billowed around them. As the Time Pilgrim materialized in 1870, he wondered if some version of himself continued to bring the cat back from the future. The cat that was from the future but was now present. What if Davies went back one day earlier to search for the cat? He wondered if the tabby still existed on the 13th of June, 1870. What if he found it and brought it back? Would the two cats know they were the same, separated by only a day? His mind ached. Davies rocked back and forth in the plush armchair. His snifter sat untouched on the smoking table. His unlit pipe languished in his mouth. The tabby turned and made biscuits in his lap. London. He had no plan for London. In the few discussions with Payne, they had come to the conclusion that there was no solution they could offer their descendants. They had decided they could not stave off the event. Davies was stricken by guilt. He thought they had given up too easily. He could not hide behind his invention and claim he was but a mere bystander. He had seen and could not unsee. He had witnessed too much. The Time Pilgrim was his passion and his curse. END
Steampunk Stories – Allister Davies Two: Quandary:
28 June 2025
*** Series begins with "Allister Davies One: London Burning" *** The air crackled with blue lighting. A cacophonous snicker sounded as an enormous cloud of steam filled the laboratory. A gulp of air pulled at scrawled pages on the desk and sent them cartwheeling over the floor. There was a shearing noise as if the sound in the room had suddenly been clipped by imaginary scissors. The steam dissipated to reveal the Time Pilgrim in the exact spot before it had traveled. Professor Allister Davies threw open the Faraday cage door. The orange and white cat leapt from his arms and landed soundlessly. It padded to its drinking dish. Unperturbed by London burning, the tabby lapped up its fill. “Dear God, Davies,” Professor Edgar Payne muttered. He stumbled off the dais and onto the stone floor. Payne had muttered during their entire brief visit to June 2050. He only stopped when the Travel Kaleidoscope made it impossible for him to speak on the return trip. He returned to dutiful muttering. “This cannot be. This simply cannot be.” Davies thumped along the wooden planks, down the steps and across the atelier to a glass case. He swung open the door and reached for his finest bottle. He poured two generous amounts of cognac into snifters. He motioned to the plush armchair. Payne threw himself down and sighed. Davies put a snifter in his hand. “Payne, to our health.” Payne jerked. “To our health? How can you make such a toast after what we’ve seen?” “Because it is our duty to keep fit,” Davies said. “Both in mind and in spirit. We must find a way to avert this catastrophe.” “How?” Payne’s hand trembled as he brought the glass to his lips. He gulped and wiped his mustache. “What can we do to stave off a disaster one hundred eighty years into the future?” This was the question that Davies had been pondering for weeks and he had no answer. It was too much for his mind to grasp. The destruction of his beloved London. The feeling of hopelessness that gripped his chest. His ignorance of the events that could have led up to the devastation. He slammed his hand on the smoking table. “We can travel some years before the events to discover what happened!” “Are you mad?” Payne jerked about in the chair. “What if we appear right in the middle of our enemies?” “I can set the timer on the clock,” Davies said. “I could set it to return only seconds after our arrival. We’d be gone again before they could act. It’s a risk worth taking for our dear London.” “We’d learn nothing in a short visit,” Payne shook his head. “And we could be shot to pieces. God only knows the arms that they have in 2050. What if they’ve perfected the automaton?” He turned to look at the strange metal figure that stood in the corner like an abandoned suit of armour. “You said you are close to steaming yours to life. You could send it in our place.” “For what purpose? The automaton is an unthinking machine.” Davies put a hand to his head. He could feel his brain swell like a puffer fish. He should have been thinking of stopping the destruction of London but his mind wandered as it often did. He was a daydreamer and a thinker before he was a scientist and inventor. He thought of the quandary of Time. Present and past did not exist as they could not be visited. When a man stepped into another time he always stood in the present. This was an argument he often had with Payne. His fellow mathematician would scoff and say they had both visited the past and future many times. Davies insisted that they were always in the present. The present was infinite. The present was there before and after all things happened. Each instant was always the present. It fried his brain. “Davies? Allister! My God man, sit and have your drink!” Payne forced Davies’ fingers around his snifter before it nearly fell to the floor. “You look as pale as a ghost. I must insist you sit.” Davies shook his head. What had he been thinking? He felt lost. Overwhelmed by his inability to see a solution for London. London his home. His place of study, debate and invention. He allowed Payne to sit him in the armchair. Davies sighed deeply. “It is nothing Edgar. Only a momentary loss of fortitude.” Payne put a thumb under Davies eye and pulled down. “I should call the surgeon.” “Bah!” Davies swatted Payne’s hand away. “I’ll have nothing more to do with that charlatan!” “He’s a luminary in his field!” Payne grunted and sat across from Davies. He looked at his empty snifter and rose. Unsteady steps took him to the glass cabinet. He returned to the armchair with the bottle. Payne filled both snifters to the brim. “Davies, my good man, pay heed. All of this time travel will turn your brain to porridge. When was the last time you slept?” The tabby leapt into Davies’ lap. For a moment he was unsure what to do. The cat from the future that was with him in the present. His mind was about to melt when the orange and white cat meowed and rubbed its head against his palm. Slowly Davies began to scratch him behind the ears. Perhaps he could find a moment of peace. “Edgar, I think I just need to rest.” Payne nodded. “Yes. The disaster is still one hundred eighty years off.” He drank his cognac in slow gulps. He cast a glance at the filthy window. “It’s getting late. Agnes will be expecting me.” “Pass her my regards,” He looked up at Payne with a wan smile. “Come call on me tomorrow.” “I shall,” Payne extended his hand and Davies shook it firmly. “Rest, my old friend. Tomorrow, I will drag you to the park if I must.” The door’s light click sent an echo through the giant workshop. Davies slumped into the thick padding and carefully rested his half empty snifter on the drinking table. He knew his limits and he was no drunkard. His head was already swimming. Swimming with drink and with worry. He feared he would have cognac fueled nightmares. The tabby stirred, yawned and promptly fell asleep in his lap. The gigantic Time Pilgrim seemed to be staring at him. Watching over him. Sometimes Davies wondered if it was conscious. Though he set every dial as carefully as he could, it did not explain how the Time Pilgrim never once landed on a living creature. It never found itself inside a building or at the bottom of a river. Somehow the Time Pilgrim always arrived on the outskirts of an adventure. As though it knew how to keep him safe. As safe as it could. Davies suspected that something guided him through the Travel Kaleidoscope. He dared not say this to Payne or he risked being committed to Bedlam. Yet since his first time traveling, he was convinced that a superior force watched over him. END.
Steampunk Stories - Allister Davies One: London Burning
06 June 2025
Professor Allister Davies absently pulled at his thick bowtie. His scuffed boots thumped along the wooden boards like the hooves of a carriage horse. His worn jacket elbows brushed the pulpit as he adjusted a set of gears. Davies slipped his tools into his pouch and closed the cage door. His shoulders slumped. He looked every bit a madman lost. Over the last weeks the scientist felt like the defeated Atlas. For Davies had witnessed the apocalypse. Too often his distant gaze had been confused with haughtiness. His colleagues accused him of superiority. They whispered that he was an intolerant antique vase better suited on a mantel than in the company of his peers. Decades ago, his spurned fiancée claimed he had a hollow heart. She accused him of being a moldy cold cellar. His milky mane gave Davies the look of a Christmas ghost. His thick beard was a blizzard piled up on a chin of stone. A doctor once said his icy blue eyes looked like they were engaged in counting neurons. They called him cold, calculating and pretentious. Davies did nothing to correct these views. Instead, he locked himself in his workshop for days on end. If only they could see him at work. In the laboratory they would see his curious wonder. They would feel his peacemaker’s soul. Davies rubbed his eyes as he stood before the Time Pilgrim. It was his greatest invention. The instrument that looped Time back on itself. It was made of oak, brass, copper, steel, piezoelectric crystals and ivory. The dials, coils and vacuum tubes were carefully set and bound with gold thread. The pipes and gears at the base of the contraption resembled the nest of a Leviathan. Perched above a water tank the steam stack was ready to hiss and bellow. The magnificent device was enclosed in an enormous Faraday Cage. Fixed in the centre was the giant Time Clock with its dials and levers. Davies smoothed out his stained and ragged coat. The scientist who could reach out and caress the fabric of time resembled an undertaker. He turned to face a handsome gentleman lounging in a plush armchair. “Payne,” Davies said. “You refute my testament.” Professor Edgar Payne, mathematician, physicist and logician sucked on his pipe. He was Davies’ only true friend and confidant. The stylish Payne was a full twenty-five years the inventor’s junior. He had his dark hair and mustache cut to the latest fashion. His movements were as measured as his thoughts. “Davies, I am of mathematical inclination. My calculations affirm it will not come to pass.” “Perhaps there is some variable missing in your calculations,” Davies ventured. “I must remark that mankind has been at war since the dawn of time.” “You make the obvious connection between man’s base desires and the predictable consequences of his acts,” Payne reached for his brandy. “But that is the realm of the psychologist.” He shook his head. “I did the math. No army of juggernauts will destroy our England.” The mangy orange and white cat leapt up on the pulpit of the Time Pilgrim. It rubbed its head on Davies’ hand. The cat from the future. The cat who bore witness. Davies squeezed his lips. “I was there, Payne. I felt the icy hand of the Reaper grip my heart. I saw the smouldering cinders of our beloved London.” “You saw one prospect out of infinite possibilities,” Payne said. “When you arrived in the future you altered history. The event will not come to pass. It’s statistically improbable.” Payne could be quite obstinate when he spoke of probabilities. “It was a damnable thing,” Davies said. He stroked the tabby behind the ears. The cat purred as Davies whispered. “I saw the vile end of England.” “I’ve done the math,” Payne scoffed. “Even with great militaristic advances the chance of an apocalypse is nearly zero.” He exhaled and smoke tendrilled around him. “Mankind is not bent on his own extinction.” Davies had also done the math. The math said Payne was right. The Ripple Theorem stated that when a traveler moved through time and interacted the event would not occur twice. Each time Davies traveled he had been a living variable. Payne’s Ripple Theorem stated that a slight alteration in the past could change the course of history. But when Davies had deliberately forgotten his cane outside of the Commons 1831, it had not changed the results of the Parliamentary elections the year after. Davies was convinced Payne’s reasoning was flawed. The Ripple Theorem could only be partially tested by the Time Pilgrim. They had used it to travel from 1870 to observe the first War of the Roses. They had witnessed the beginnings of the Industrial Revolution. They had gazed upon William the Conqueror as he marched on London. That visit had nearly killed Davies. Yet none of those trips had changed the future of Victorian England. Payne claimed small changes had undoubtedly occurred. Davies disagreed. The cat preened as Davies spoke. “Payne, I can prove it to you.” Payne waved a hand. “You probably just dreamed it. You’ve been using the machine too frequently. It has disturbed your sleep. It will fry your brain.” “Time is a cyclical phenomenon,” Davies said. The mangy tabby purred in agreement. “All has happened and all will happen.” “You’ve got your head stuffed with Vedic philosophy,” Payne said as he tapped his pipe. He crossed his legs and smiled. “Why don’t you join Agnes and I on a charming stroll through London’s bystreets? Yesterday we were down Pickwick Way. The brass knobs are gleaming and the shutters are painted a gay shade of blue. It will lift your spirits.” “I took something back with me.” Davies’ eyes unfocused as he tasted his words. They were bitter and electric. He let the astonishing revelation linger in the air. Payne gripped his pipe until his hand turned bone white. He drew back into the plush leather. His voice shook. “That—That is forbidden!” “It isn’t quite as you think,” Davies muttered. “The cat. It followed me. I had no heart to cast it out of the Time Pilgrim as the Faraday Cage came alight. The poor beast would have been lost to the Travel Kaleidoscope.” Payne rubbed his face. “You risked history for that damned ball of fleas?” He nearly shouted. Payne had always kept his even demeanor. But now he was raging. “You could have altered the course of our Empire!” “Edgar, my good man, I fear nothing has changed,” Davies shook his head. He rested his hands lightly on the dials of the Time Pilgrim. “Let me prove it by setting the clock to June 2050.” “Allister, this is madness,” Payne stood and pointed at the tabby. “You should have let it disappear into the Travel Kaleidoscope.” Davies threw a lever and the steam engine boomed. “The cat is but one spoke in the Cosmic Wheel.” With a whine the Time Pilgrim whirred to life. The tubes glowed and the clock hands began to spin. Electric arcs lit the Faraday Cage. Steam spewed out and filled the laboratory like a herd of sheep. Davies appeared mad as his flowing white hair stood on end. “Let me show you our dear London in 2050.” “Why?” Payne shouted. He stood next to the cage door. “What difference will it make now? All has changed!” “I say the future has not changed. Mankind is on the road to perdition.” The mangy tabby hissed in Davies’ arms. He pulled open the cage door as blue bolts cracked overhead. “We cannot alter events that are set by man’s hubris.” The cage door slammed shut. Steam spewed out and the room blurred. The thunderous crack of lightning threatened to topple Zeus from Mount Olympus. The roar of the steam engine filled their ears. The blur took on colours as they hurled through Travel Kaleidoscope. The circular rainbows tasted of copper and glass. Light exploded around them as the cat hissed in Davies’ arms. Then silence. The steam dissipated. The remains of a great city came into view. “Dear God, Davies,” Payne put a hand to his mouth. “This cannot be London. Please tell me we are on Venus or on Mars!” “We are in London, June 2050,” Davies cringed at a shriek in the distance. The mournful laments of the dying caused him to shiver. He turned to Payne as he stroked the cat’s mangy fur. “What will become of our descendants if we stand idle with this knowledge? If the Ripple Theorem is correct, let us put it to the test. We must stop this madness.” Around them smouldered a wasteland of brick, glass, steel and stone. Strange, horseless carts were crushed and overturned. Iron contraptions with massive cannons and segmented chains on their wheels smoked. Something that looked like an ornithopter stood on its head. The stench of rotting flesh caused them to gag. The tabby yowled. Davies put a hand on Payne’s shoulder. He had seen it all before. But Davies had neglected to inform Payne of a singular detail. This was not his second trip to London, June 2050. This was his ninth. And each time London burned. End. A special thanks to Gianluca for the apocalyptic antiwar theme, to Mary and David for showing me their Steampunk Clock, and to Aria for the cat.