Steampunk Days

I mentioned Steampunk the other day and gave what I thought was a fair description, but on reflection decided that maybe more information was needed to fully explain the genre. So here goes... 

Steampunk focuses on an alternate world where machines powered by steam are the principal modern devices and where magic and mythological creatures may or may not appear. In my own alternate worlds, I use a SciFi base with interplanetary travel, alien cultures and beings and many different civilizations while maintaining nineteenth century British Civil Service style governments. 

I originally intended this to be a series of "Boy's adveture tales" like the stories of Frank Buck. Roy Chapman Andrews and Jim Corbett which I so enjoyed as a child of the fifties. And yes, I never heard of the terrifyingly dull stories of Dr Seuss until I was much older, wiser and knew enough to avoid them like the plague. 

Modern sensibilities being what they are so many of our planet's resources are endangered that you cannot tell a tale of Great White Hunters searching the Dark Continent for exotic creatures to shoot, they all protected and rightly so for the world will be a sadder place without the great predators and their game animals to fill the forests of our imaginations and the few remaining wild life sanctuarys.

So to tell the same type of tale I had to invent a world where such a thing was still possible and in so doing I created my own white Hunter Roger Sinclar. I hope that my deviations from the strict Steampunk convention do not deeply offend you and that you enjoy the short tale presented here for clarification. So grab a pith helmet, put on your bush jacket and come along with me as we join Roger Sinclar on DeepWild trails.



    In my many adventures in the DeepWilds of the Worlds I have on occasion experienced fears and night terrors of a most distressing nature but never have I felt that I was so threatened that my own resources would be insufficient to manage the threat or fail to rise to any challenge. 
    It is true that the forest is a dark and dangerous place and the unwary or unprepared may at times find the imagination conjures strange noises from behind every tree and bush in the path of the hunter but in such cases it is the business of the individual to master his fears and soldier on.

     On the hunt for the ShapeShifter of Deljhos Roayle I found myself in just such a position, for in the great cities of the StarRiders are so dissimilar from the jungles of the DeepWilds that for the early days of this hunt I was much like a raw recruit struggleing to master his kit.

     It was in deed fortunate that on this hunt I was accompanied by my long time companion Jharal, an Umeki blood drinker, and the redoubtable Sanderson.

     For those of you who have followed my tales of the struggle of Nature against that ever encroaching advance of civilization will be well acquainted with these stalwarts, but for those new to my tales, I should offer a brief introduction.

     Jharal, my Umeki Shambolain, was my batman in the late BioWars and never a truer soul lived and breathed under the gaze of the StarRiders. On far too many occasions I have relied on my companion for comfort, safety and all other such requirements as a man in peril may confess and still remain a man of honor.

     Sanderson, my boyhood companion and leader in many school yard escapades, had served as my commander in that aforementioned war and had through the years forwarded my career through his efforts as the most clever and resourceful Deputy District Commissioner that the Worlds of the StarRiders have ever known.

     It was at Sanderson’s request that I became involved in this most dangerous and mysterious hunt, for I was at the time many Worlds away engaged in riding the people of Mlagugga of a marauding Dlekscath. This creature, common to the planet of Agugga and resembling nothing so much as an Old Earth snake, is in fact a mammal with all of the capabilities of that celebrated line of fauna.

     The warm blood, quick reactions and larger brain, commonly connected with mammals is true of the Dlekscath and carries with it all of the dangers any man might wish when hunting an animal who has gone rogue and now must be put down so that man may make a better and higher use of the available materials than would Nature left to her own devices.

     I had at the time been in the DeepWilds for over a month and the strain of constant watchfulness was beginning to take it’s toll, but at that very minute I was called back into camp to take a ComCast from my old superior.

     “Roger, old man, we have the most damnable bad show back here and I was hoping that you could spare a minute and make The Jump and see if you can make any sense of what has baffled the best minds of the Commission and the Planetary Council?”

     This was an invitation I was loathe to decline and as I had had no luck in my hunt and had by making such investigations as I had driven the Dlekscath into the outreaches of its territory and as the District Commissioner had arranged for a detachment of TerritorialGuards to set a solid barrier against the deprivations of the beast I felt the change would do no harm and might well effect a miracle cure for my shattered nerves I gladly accepted and made my plans for departure.

     I did issue strict instruction that under no circumstance should nay person be allowed out in the pre-dawn hours, unaccompanied, for it was the habit of these creatures to strike at dawn and lair up for the heat of the day, returning to their kill at dusk and if we could prevent their usual behavior, I felt certain that we could force a change that would offer the best opportunity to make a successful hunt.

     The Colour Sergeant of the Guards assured me that he would follow my requests to the letter and as he and his men had been part of the sad affair on Umekos that ultimately cost the great Dva Movi Shambolain his life, I knew that he would do as he promised and thus assured that my absence would cause no great danger to the people I had sworn to help, I made my exit and took the first Jump for the strange and terrifying hunt that lay before me.

     We arrived without difficulty and as Sanderson had been OnWorld before us there was none of the usual silly buggers with the customs folk. Many worlds do not allow Umeki to visit, for the legends of the Umeki Blood-drinkers have been the stuff of nightmare for all of the years since the first StarRider discovered Umekos and it’s fascinating peoples.

     The Umeki do not hunt at present, rather having found that the intercourse with other Worlds and other peoples is absolutely necessary for any proper civilization, they have become a people of husbandry and have cultivated natural live stocks to provide for their nutritional needs.

     My own long-term domestic companion, Robin, so named by Sanderson in some mysterious ancient viewing reference joke, was once, one such domesticated animal until the events of the Hunt For The Rogue proved her and her people, the Vaughn, to be fully sapient and thus deserving of the accepted status for all living thinking peoples.

     But to return to my present tale, the freedom from detention so aptly provided by Sanderson allowed us to move immediately from the JumpPort to the Embassy and the scene of the latest attack. While in route, Sanderson offered his brief and in his usual manner supplied both the full measure of the tale and a much need insight into the detail that would have escaped a lesser officer assigned to the same brief.

     “The man, perhaps victim, is well known to you, old Sir Percy Blyville, of the Cavanagh Blyvilles and of course one of the fourth form bullies who made our opening sallies at the school so filled with bruises and hard won lessons. You do know, for I am sure that even in those days it was common knowledge, that old Percy was a pederast? The boys in the second form lived in absolute terror of him and I am much saddened to say that his life in service allowed him the position and the wealth to exercise his deviant tastes to the point of squalor.”

     I did not know and so bade Sanderson continue his briefing for this sort of information is extremely helpful when setting out on a quest to secure and eliminate a dangerous creature.

     “On the fifth of this month. Sir Percy was attending a ball given by the local Prostitutes Guild and as you will remember, the Jasmhiney are very devoted to their temple women and believe that any celebration at which they may be serviced is both a social responsibility and a scared duty. Sir Percy was in attendance, as both his office and proclivity inclined him thus and while here became attracted to a most handsome young, blonde man and it is reported that after some minutes of conversation, they departed, giving the impression, to those who witnessed the event, that they were headed to Sir Percy’s rooms, which in deed they did do and it was there that Sir Percy met his fate.”

     Jharal said something to the effect that “A Man receives what he most deserves,” or words to that effect; Umeki is a most expressive language and it could well have been something to the contrary for the words “Pity it wasn’t you, Movi Sanderson,” could have sounded much the same to an untrained ear.

     We made it through the crowded JumpPort and into the capitol with great dispatch, Sanderson having had the foresight to engage a patrol of the Imperial Gazetteers as an escort, and with less than a few minutes spent we arrived at the Embassy and were escorted straight into the private quarters of the late Sir Percy Blyville.”

     I knew better than to waste time asking questions for Sanderson, when his blood is up, will only share what he has when he is convinced that everyone is playing on the same team and to this effort I enlisted Jharal, for the Umeki have much greater resources in the area of sensing than do the limited abilities of man.

     We took our best time and after a short but satisfactory conference we made to present Sanderson with our findings.

     “I’m afraid, old man, that you have gone to great expense for no good purpose. This man was killed in a lovers spat and as such falls clearly into the purview of The Metropolitan Police and well outside the venue of a hunter.”

     Sanderson’s eyes twinkled and with a wave of his arm his conveyed us into the bedroom of the apartments and to the window there. “So I had thought, just as you and the worthy Jharal have concluded and clearly it is a sound opinion, but when you read that Sir Percy’s body was torn apart by tooth and nail and that the villain made his get-a-way through this window, I am convinced that you will alter your opinion.”

     Jharal and I both crowded up to the window in question and stared in disbelief. The window was raised but two inches from the frame and held in place by stout iron nails driven through the window and into the frame.

     “And, my clever Roger, have a look at this. No man left this behind and I have exercised great pains that no one should so much as glance in this direction until you have laid eyes on it yourself. If after a look you, or the respected Shambolain believes that is a boy’s work and not a I fear some strange new threat to the life of the capitol, then return to your snake hunt with my blessings and full support!”

     It took but an instant and as I turned to Jharal the taught blue skin of his face spoke all of the arguments I had planned to make and so without a single exception I placed myself and my companion at Sanderson’s disposal.

     Trapped in the jam of the window, along with a bit of blood and some deep scratches, was a long, yellow strip of fur.