

## A Steampunk Valentine

### Stories from the Steampunk.com

### Saint Valentine's Day

### Short Short Competition

Copyright © 2013 by Steampunk.com

Smashwords Edition

The authors in this collection retain and hold their individual respective rights to their stories.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

Cover design by John Leavitt

Cover painting by Alphonse Mucha

# Table of Contents

Forward

My Brassy Steam-powered Girl by Barry Huddleston

Madame Fyrelyte, stood on the bridge... by Madame Fyrelyte

There she stood... by Brittany

The engine, the hydraulics in the legs... by Clothdragon

Alex wiped the damp away... by Dan Titmuss

Dana stood at the edge... by Katey Springle Lempka

The gentle Lady Thornborough gazed... by Emily

A Good Doctor is Made by Greg Johannson

The Gift by Charlotte Tracey

What's this? by Laurel Schlitt

That day, I chose... by Elizabeth

The train to Bristol... by Flora

Amara's Valentine by Amara Deegan

Over and over the construction was wrong... by Alandria Cruxiel

Dumb Luck: a Steampunk Short Story by A. E. McCullough

"I love you"... by Tom O'Carmody

Captain Katherine Wakefield looked out... by Cassidy Q.

David landed, feline-silent by Michael Grey

"Not another one" by Sharyn

The Bounty by Rachel Klingberg

The night was drawing to a close... by Ruby Perkins

The Genuine Article by Virginia M. Sanders

The din of the crowded club... by John J. Gray

Silence, broken by the awkward ticks... by Lady Jade Summers

Anna drew in a sharp breath... by Emma Woods

Submerged by Empress Annde

Nuts and Bolts of the Heart by GoldfishGal

Time Will Tell by Whitney Abriel

The Thrush by S. L. Windsor

Nadia lifted the goggles... by Kit

Clockwork Heartache by Glenn R. Shambach

Valentine's Day by Jaime

The edge of the world by Nikki De Backer

Slowly her vision swims... by Tessa

Watchworks and Roses by Elia Winters

The following are excerpts... by Walter Pryce

Selece batted the dart away... by Scarlet

Pouring over the newly acquired map... by Karen Collins

First came Cappadocia... by Katharine Duckett

On That Day by Caleb Gillombardo

February 14 by Margaret Mae

Forward

This little book is the result of the Steampunk.com St. Valentine's Day Short Short Short Competition. Yes, that's three "short"s. The first was because people were only given a week to enter and the other two were because I wanted short short stories, pretty much under a thousand words.

The competition came about when I was approached by Ben Gallivan at Corset Story to see if I'd like to give away one of their Steampunk-style corsets on Steampunk.com. Not being a complete idiot, I said yes immediately, but then it took us a while to coordinate on exactly when and how to do it. Finally, in January I just decided to pick Valentine's Day as a goal and work back from there. Making it a story competition seemed like more fun than just a lottery, so I went with that.

We did hit some snags along the way. First, we received way more stories than I expected. With only a week, I somehow assumed there might be maybe a dozen stories. Not so. By the end of the submission period, 41 different stories and poems had been posted. This somewhat destroyed my idea of a simple vote, as it seemed unrealistic to expect everyone who was going to vote to read that many stories. Then I turned it into tournament, but we had all sorts of mischief with the voting.

In the end, I let the author's decide who should win and the honors went to "Nuts and Bolts of the Heart" by GoldfishGal.

I think it was a good competition, despite the problems, and I hope everyone who participated had fun.

And now, for your reading pleasure, here are the entrees from the competition in the order they were received. Enjoy.

John Leavitt

My Brassy Steam-powered Girl

Barry Huddleston

Her hair is the color of molten brass, Hephaestus would be jealous.

She moves with a smooth cool grace though powered by hot steam.

Clockworks spin within her and my focus is quite zealous.

I can not help but notice that her lights are all agleam.

I pray thee steam-powered girl, may I enquirer of your make and model?

Her voice is melodious as she answers so sweetly and demure.

Love has quickened my heart. I'm unsteady and start to toddle.

I wonder if my condition is serious, but I do not want a cure

Eros has started my clockwork heart.

I have found my steam-powered companion.

The secrets of our love I shall never impart,

but they are deeper than the deepest canyon

At last, I have found someone made just for me,

for a clockwork heart, love is the key.

Madame Fyrelyte, stood on the bridge...

Madame Fyrelyte

Madame Fyrelyte, stood on the bridge of her dirigible, the light from the aether used provide it's power gave off a glow lighting her face. She was on a mission that was of the utmost urgency, at least for her personally. Two days ago she had gotten a coded message from the love of her life Sgt. Douglas Rich, who had been on a secret message for her majesty Queen Victoria. It had taken her half of the first day to decode it, a task that would have taken anyone else weeks if not longer. Madame Fyrelyte was a genius of her time, and as a tinkerer and technologist, she was able to read what Douglas had written to only her. "Time is short love, but my love for you will never be lost. Please do not follow or try to find me. I am lost within the machine". There was no way possible that Madame Fyrelyte was going to even heed that warning and sit still, and actually Douglas knew that. Which is why he sent it exactly that way, she would gather her technology and follow him.

"Take down the Stars and Stripes men, set running to silent. Soon we approach our target" Madame Fyrelyte informed her crew. The crew followed her orders as they approached the small island, the moon lighting the waters in the bay before them. The dirigible would stay hidden in the cove inches above the ground while Madame Fyrelyte would begin her search

Madame Fyrelyte began to prepare to leave her crew and ship. She already wore her steel corset, the spiral bones allowed her complete movement, while protecting her inner organs. She added to that her goggles and their many devices that would allow her to see thru the darkness of the jungle. Then her aether gun, built and modified by herself. She took nothing else, as speed was important, and while the tech she carried with her was great, she needed to be light on her feet.

"Captain Sprocket, if I am not back within 24 hours, or you are discovered – You know what to do sir" Madame Fyrelyte said to her trusty pilot.

"Yes Ma'am" was his curt replay. With that she was off into the tall trees with stealth.

Soon Madame Fyrelyte came upon the main feature of the small island, for at its heart was a Volcano, and while smoldering, it was dormant. She soon found a cave, turned on her aether lenses and saw it as if it was bright day inside. With every step the sound of gears clanking, and steam venting became louder, she wondered how the Volcano had even dampened such noise. Soon she came upon the end of the tunnel and at its precipice she looked down and beheld the thing that made such noise. There was the largest machination she had ever seen, surely the work of the evil Dr. Featherbone. But below there was her love, the man she would risk her life to rescue, and oh yes rescue him she would........

Written by A. Rich – who in her other world life is Madame Fyrelyte – Tinkerer and Technologist for the Corn Island Steampunk Society in Louisville, Ky – a genuinely crazy creator and envisionist

There she stood...

Brittany

There she stood, the woman I'd dreamt of since my youth, in all her glory and beauty and years of flawless design. From the radiant hair, a glowing flowing white from her head to her waist, down to the gears on her boots. Her skin as smooth as polished stone, and as warm as a cold summer brook. Her eyes made of true greens and blues brings my heart to a stop. Twelve long years it took to build my one true love, to make her glisten like so many dreams past by. And my long days and short nights come down to this one moment. Dare I give life to a dream? Who am I to assume the ability and rights of that which brings man into this world? But what is a world without true love, without that one to which brings lighthearted laughter and much sought after affection, be it of the flesh or be it crafted out of steam and gears and machine. And with no further thought, no further foresight I flipped a switch and suddenly my world began to spin out of control. One small motion and gears started spinning, whirling, and bringing me beyond my wildest imagination. Moments later, her head drifted up, and without hesitation she stepped towards me and faltered just slightly and fell right into my arms like so many nights I'd caught her in my dreams, now for the first time it was real. She looked up at me and in that moment I knew, I knew she was mine and I would give her my world if she asked. With my hand upon her face I gently pressed my lips against the cold metal of her forehead and in her eyes I was lost in a world I thought would never be.

The engine, the hydraulics in the legs...

Clothdragon

The engine, the hydraulics in the legs, were so loud Samuel was certain he'd disturb her, but as he approached the window they remained seated, few of them even cocking their head to suggest there was a sound they couldn't identify. Perhaps it was louder on the inside. He couldn't say as he'd never been outside while it was running. This was the furthest he'd gone in the belly of his beast. This was its inaugural journey. This was the most important day of his life.

They surrounded her, talking amongst themselves, or with her father; their flowers covering every table in the room barely leaving space for the snack tray. She was perfect, wearing soft yellow sitting in a sea of admirers. Her tea cup had stalled inches from the saucer, as if she'd planned to take a sip before the whole world had been forgotten.

In her head, Carmella was engaged in a massive battle, each of the men trying in turn to win with brute strength while she danced lightly around them. Hers was a fencing sword leaving welts rather than trails of blood. Each time she managed another punishing thwap they grew more reckless with their sabers, less concerned about damaging her with their full-bladed weapons — or possibly, preferably, they fought with a growing respect for her abilities. She leapt from table to table, broken vases creating thorns for every overly safe flower they'd given her today, for every swaddled thornless flower they'd given her ever.

She rapped smartly on Sir Mitchum's knuckles causing his sword to fly from his hands and imbed itself in the wooden floor, quivering neatly an inch from his well-polished boot. His hands raised in surrender... just as he cleared his throat and called her name. The trip back to reality was not welcome and she had to blink several times to see the room as it really was.

That was the only reason she didn't turn to see the massive metal face looming in, blocking the light from the large windows on the west wall. Because it almost certainly couldn't be real. She turned wide attentive eyes to Sir Mitchum and smiled.

Samuel carefully placed the legs around the nicely tended shrubbery and adjusted a few levers, the weights and balance to swing the face, the control pod, closer to the glass. Another few levers lifted a massive steel arm, placing it carefully with three fingers the length of a mans leg on the brick and only one against the window. The slightest movement, a tiny tap-tap and the glass barely cracked at all.

The men didn't move, waiting to take their cue from her father. He sat holding his port and frowning at the window. After a moment he looked down at his glass and swirled it, setting the remnants of the golden liquid in motion. Then he looked up again, his frown deepening. The admirers began to look more flustered but Carmella was the first to move. As she reached the windows, several of them stood. When she turned the key, they stepped forward and when she flung the panes open they were only a few feet behind her, murmuring amongst themselves. They should protect her, but from that? How?

A few more levers and the other hand came up holding a rose of copper and silver almost as tall as Carmella herself; the flower alone spread as wide as her shoulders.

Carmella reached out to touch a metal thorn the size of her fist. Despite the size it was sharp enough to prick her finger. She smeared the blood with her thumb and grinned. The glass shield slid up revealing a small cockpit. Samuel — too busy to chat, too busy to visit, too busy to notice, Samuel — looked up, pressing a few more levers. The hand fell back and large metal head moved closer, now only a few inches away.

"Would you," Samuel began. He cleared his throat and stepped away from the controls, closer to the window. "I mean, would you, Carmella, like to go for a walk in the park with me?"

Carmella sat on the windowsill and twisted, swinging her legs up and over to the other side. Her feet dangled just above the cockpit and those few inches loomed, larger than they'd seemed a minute before. Samuel's eyes widened and he rushed to assist, catching her as she landed on the deck.

"Yes, please."

"Yes, please?" he mouthed in the form of a question; his concentration obviously broken by her change in venue.

She lifted her hand from his wrists, still at her waist, and touched his boutonniere — a miniature model of the rose he'd offered her. "I would love to walk in the park with you."

"Yes?" he asked again, as if he wasn't sure he could entirely believe it.

"Yes." Carmella said again. She knew exactly how that felt.

I'm Marilou Goodwin in person and Clothdragon online and I love steampunk for the beauty in its design. Things are made practical, strong, and useful but with flourishes – with extra detail so each piece of equipment is also a work of art.

Alex wiped the damp away...

Dan Titmuss

Alex wiped the damp away from the year-clock on the wall of her cabin. February 14th. And it's almost midnight. _Fuck Valentines Day. They should be able to make port tomorrow, for supplies._ The work clothes stuck to her, she needed to peel off the heavy gloves before flicking on the oil lamp.

Light warmed the copper room, a converted cell from the ships policing days. It showed her visitor in full light. _Looks like I'm not spending tonight alone._ The cap took a strict rule about vermin, and it was about the only rule that Alex didn't follow. The rat trotted over, ignoring the sway of the boat, and perched on its hind legs. _Clever little bastard._ She hadn't given it food more than a couple of times. The rat took the corner of bread that Alex offered. It snatched it with its front paws and manoeuvred to its mouth. After Alex had watched, she offered her hand and the rat climbed up. Time for a drink.

Like _THE ARC_ , Alex's room was an organised chaos. When Alex picked up the bottle after a storm day, she rarely remembered where she put it down. _I fell asleep last night._ Sure enough, a half empty bottle of absinthe was underneath the pillow. She sat down at the makeshift bed and popped the cork. Her visitor recoiled with the smell. _I guess you don't want any._ It curled up in her lap, and she decapitated a pen. _Here's to you James._ As the kick of home-made absinthe hit her throat she began writing.

James,

* * *

Spending Valentines Day alone called for a drink. James was getting better at distilling absinthe; it had a raw earth taste that the city bars rarely sunk to. He removed the characteristic red velvet jacket, and pumped from the still into a crystal glass. It was the perfect size and weight, a decent gift from another redjacket politician with a penchant for green. Revolving the gold laced globe, James imagined his finger as _THE ARC_ , and tracked it along its route Eastwards.

James was always taught how a bourgeois wouldn't be seen fraternizing with a lower class citizen, especially a cargo steamer. He despised everything that he was. Running away from the stuffy upbringing and chasing political equality had pushed him harder into politics, and shaped him like a silhouette of his father. _I'm not the same._

As his thoughts boiled away they reduced to a single one. He thought of the protest funding he had supplied; the way that a strictly professional relationship grew to more than that. He thought of her working on _THE ARC._ His mind thrashed away once more with thoughts with the danger of life at sea, flashes of pirates and storms. A woody stoke of absinthe hit the back of his throat and stopped his mind, flattening it to calm. His sandtime rang; it was midnight. Alex would make final port in a few days. He strode over to the typer. _I drink to you._

My dear Alex,

Dana stood at the edge...

Katey Springle Lempka

Dana stood at the edge of the dirigible, peering down into the clouds. Her long wet skirts whipped about in the wind, stinging her legs. She crouched low, grabbing the rail that skirted the prow, and attempted to peer over her shoulder without falling off the edge. The darkness and rain impaired her vision, but she thought she could see movement further back. She stayed down, trying to keep the mass of her body obstructed by the curvature of the ship while keeping her eyes just high enough to see.

Someone was definitely moving towards her. It was nearly impossible to tell in these conditions whether it was friend or foe. She fumed silently at Ivan for pushing her out the door, even though she knew he'd done it to try and save her. Idiot. They could have as easily ducked out together and secured the door behind them. Though, he had been in a defensible position, so maybe he would come out unscathed. She watched with trepidation as the figure moved toward her. It was fairly tall and broad, and she could make out the line of a man's top hat. But, that meant little. It could still be anyone. Ivan, yes, maybe... she let herself hope. But also perhaps one of the thugs sent by Tricia.

Carefully she turned back around, assessing her options. Looking straight ahead into the mist, she thought she saw the blinking red and green lights of an approaching ship. This was a major trade route after all, and perhaps the fates would favor her this day. She knew the westbound ship she was on would have altitude priority, and therefore pass over another ship if one was headed this way.

She watched the lights in the darkness for a few moments. Yes, it was definitely moving this way, and would be here in a matter of minutes. She turned back, still crouched. The figure was halfway down the prow now, picking his way carefully in the wind. It looked like there were more people behind him, just coming out of the hatch. She bit her lip, frustrated at her immobility, and waited. The wind shifted, and she could hear the unmistakable whir of Ivan's goggles. Naturally the first thing he'd done when he finished making them from the kit was modify them, and they whined higher than any others Dana had ever come across. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, then hissed into the storm.

"Ivan," she stage whispered. The shadowy figure turned his head towards her position, then away. The wind was playing tricks with the acoustics, no doubt. She tried again, slightly louder. "Ivan!"

That time he heard her, she was sure of it. He was making his way towards her position with a purpose now, moving a bit faster and with surer feet. Finally he was close enough for her to see his face, his dear face, a sheet of rain dripping down from the brim of his hat, those ridiculous goggles obscuring his sky blue eyes, but nonetheless a face she would know anywhere. He threw his arms around her. She allowed it, then pulled back and punched him in the shoulder.

"You're late, and don't you ever pull such a stunt again," she scolded him. He merely grinned.

"Well, luv, you seem to have led me to a dead end. Those goons are sure to see which way I went, and my gun is empty."

"No, not a dead end," she said with a mischievous grin. She pulled back completely out of his embrace, checked the location of the red and green lights—they were just disappearing beneath her, as she expected—and tightly grabbed his hand. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Come on then," she said with a smile. "Jump."

The gentle Lady Thornborough gazed...

Emily

The gentle Lady Thornborough gazed into the rippling water beneath the bridge she stood on. She glanced at the battered brass fob watch that was in her pocket. 'Oh, where is he?' She said to herself, angrily. Lady Thornborough was an aristocrat, and an inventor. She was also an epitome of beauty, her hair redder than the autumn leaves she walked on; her eyes greener than the bottom of the serene, swirling pool below. 'I apologize greatly for the inconvenience I have caused you, I hope I am not too late?' a voice called suddenly. The Lady turned, startled by this sudden noise which had awaken her from her daydreams. Professor Edwin Woodward stood at the end of the bridge. He approached and embraced her. 'I was held up by a small yet quite significant flaw in my designs, but I think I have perfected the contraption,' said the Professor, smiling. He held out a dusty little box with a lid. The Lady opened it gingerly, as if there were some poisonous insect sleeping inside. Lying on soft, faded red velvet was a shining brass eyepiece, like a monocle but with a thick, golden frame and opaque, bottle-green glass. She gazed at the Professor in wonder and curiosity. 'Look through this and you may see anything you wish to. You can peer through solid objects, gaze to the bottom of the murkiest water as if it was crystal clear. You can see a sleeper's dreams and a waking person's daydreams. This is for you, take it.'

The lady fastened the leather strap round her head, the eyepiece covering her right eye. Once again, she stared into the pool but instead of green, muddy water she saw water so clear it was almost invisible. She saw the pond weed swirling on the bottom, with small, silver fish gliding among its long, green tendrils. 'It is incredible, magical, a most desirable instrument to own.' She looked into the eyes of the Professor and read his mind, thinking his thoughts, feeling his emotions. 'More desirable, even, than you, Lady Thornborough?'

She smiled broadly, and the sun reflected off her right eye, and reflected off the glass of the invention covering her left. 'Dearest Edwin, I feel attracted to you in a way that is almost indescribable,' declared Lady Thornborough.

'The feeling is mutual, my dear Helen,' replied the Professor, and they kissed, the warm September sun beating down on the couple. The lovers stood for what seemed like an age, locked in a passionate embrace. The brass eyepiece need not show Helen Thornborough or Edwin Woodward one another's desires; they both knew that they only wanted to be together, that it was the only important thing.

'I feel like I have known you forever, Helen,' exclaimed the Professor when they eventually separated.

'My love, I would stay here on this bridge with you forever, if I could. But now I have an urgent appointment that I must see to. I do thank you for this most delightful of afternoons with you.' The lady began to stroll off the bridge, still wearing the brass instrument. The Professor watched her slowly disappear into the haze of the afternoon, his heart beating like clockwork.

A Good Doctor is Made

Greg Johannson

The good material to make a shoulder from is copper. A zinc elbow and silver fingers complement a well-made arm. Doc polished his shoulder and tied it tight with fresh leather straps, though he did not favor the smell. Doc was no doctor, but he was saddled with the name by those entrusted to his care. Doc did have a doctors patience for the foibles of others, something he had honed since the loss of his own arm. Since he replaced it by himself, others had come for the same.

A good prosthetic feels like the original. It is about the same size, so that when the phantom limb the lies underneath itches, the phantom scratch must be in the right place. This simple relief alone was worth what doc would charge. A good fee was what money a patient could comfortably part with, plus a boot or glove that the customer obviously had no more use for. Doc had made several odd pairs from the spare and lonesome gloves handed to him by new metallic hands. "A good glove is the one you can find," doc would say. One has to say something in these situations so one doesn't think of the loss.

The injured men tend to start with the story of how it happened the moment they walk in to doc's shop. A good story is a combination of what they were thinking at the time of the mishap, the good intentions they had, and a not-too-long explanation of how they were not an idiot. Many of them had been making something: a stove, an engine, a gun. A good gun is made up of smoothbore barrels, a rotating chamber, a sturdy grip.

Doc lost his gun and wife all-together at the same time when one took the other, and together, took his arm and stole away. A good wife is made out of spring water and liquid chocolate, hair that is usually wet and windows left open at night. A good husband is made from saltpeter and almonds, maple wood and the heels of shoes.

Doc wouldn't let her leave and couldn't help her make what she wanted, even though everyone already knows what little boys and girls are made from.

Some do not survive the application of the prosthesis. They often give the doc last words for their loved ones. They typically wait until the last second. The men leave words for their wives and find something good to say about them.The women, when they die, show no pain and give instructions. They are very thorough. Doc buries them; his copper arm is very strong, in graves dug into the soft hill behind his shop. A good graveyard is made of people who have not been discarded until all replaceable parts have had their chance at replacement. It is a bin for the incurably incomplete.

Metal is what Doc knows, if a poor medium for making people whole. Copper is good for shoulders and arms, gold for teeth and silver for fingers and toes. Alloys are in need for innards, except the heart, which due to the blood's insatiable need, must be made from iron. This is, pitifully, the only organ which otherwise healthy individuals want replaced. Doc is not a doctor though, he cannot solve the inevitable problem of a rusted heart.

Doc is trying to improve. He is applying what he has learned. He will replace his own eyes. Good eyes are made from diamonds, but the only diamond he ever had he gave away. That diamond on a hand of flesh shot him, and ran away.

Story by Gregory Johansson, who likes thinking about what people in 1880 thought 1940 would look like.

The Gift

Charlotte Tracey

The wires sparked under her quickly moving fingers. Parts of her gloves were getting burned, but she ignored it and pressed on. There wasn't much time left, this needed to be completed by morning.

It was just puppy love, at least that's what she had convinced herself. There was no point in getting hung up over it. She was too smart to let herself be obsessed with love. She wasn't like all the other girls at her school, acting silly, tightening their corsets so the guys would notice them, confessing their feelings behind the gymnasium every weekend. But now, she felt the heat rise to her cheeks again and shook her head trying to shake it off.

Another spark. She put her finger to her mouth to ease the light burn. Playing with the half-built trinket in her other hand she started to doubt what she was doing. Was this even worth it? Would he accept it? Did he even remember her?

Five years is a long time. That's how long ago he had , but now he was back. And only a week before Valentine's Day! At first she couldn't think of what to do or say. The thought of confessing seemed to fall into her head from no where, and she couldn't shake it. She hadn't even spoken with him yet.

She took the trinket in both hands. It was almost finished, would she really just end now. Leave it here with her other half made inventions that wouldn't work. Would this be another failure, or–. Her eyes went to the wall. A small selection of ribbons and trophies she had won over the years for her inventions. Could she be successful with this new trinket like she was with them? Could she be successful in romance?

The thought reddened her face once again. Looking back to the trinket she held she decided to follow though. There was no point in wondering, she had to know. The only way to know is to experiment, to test it out, to tell him.

With a new burst of energy she managed to finish sometime before the sun came up. She wrapped it up in a small black box and put it in her school bag. When she finally laid down to sleep the excitement started to bubble up inside her and she couldn't rest.

When morning came she found herself watching the hands on the clock tick by. Her hand poised over the switch seconds before the clock hit seven. The chimes rang for the shortest moment and she flung herself out of bed. She got dressed faster than ever, tying her leather corset as she flew down the stairs, her bag hanging over her shoulder.

By the time her parents came out of their own room she was already half way finished with her breakfast and had run out the door before they could question her morning rush.

Waiting under the clock tower in front of the school she fidgeted with the strap of her bag while she waited for him to arrive on campus. A slow trickle of students began to arrive. The wait was exhausting.

The crowds traffic began to increase and she looked out over the faces hoping he wouldn't pass by her. She started to get anxious as the time moved forward.

"Is that Sara?" Her head turned sharply at the sound of her name. It was him. And she froze. He cocked his head to the side. "Am I wrong?"

"N-no! It's me." She found it hard to make eye contact.

"Great!" His smile was lovely. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"I do! Keith" she said softly and he smiled again. Her arms went slack and she managed to keep her gaze on his face. It was quiet for a moment between them. What was she trying to do again? Then she remembered the present.

She pulled at the zipper on her bag, but her nervousness made her stumble. The bell rang and she froze.

"Uh oh, looks like class is starting. We better get inside." He started to turn towards the building. Students were rushing in before the second bell.

"Wait!" She shouted, a little louder than she meant. Embarrassment burned her cheeks again. She was getting real fed up with all this blushing. But he stopped and looked back at her. For a moment she thought she would tear her bag apart, but the zipper finally opened and she pulled out the black box.

With shaky steps she walked up to Keith, when she was a step away she pushed her arm out, keeping her eyes on the gift.

"It's for you." She felt his hand touch hers when he took it and thought she might pass out from the heat that was rising to her face. Forcing her head to look up she watched him curiously open the gift. He pushed back the tissue paper and pulled up the chain. On the end was a small bronze heart. "Y-you have to wind it up. On the back."

He flipped it over and began to wind the small key, before turning it back to the front. The center of the heart opened up revealing a lightly glowing glass sphere with a picture etched into it. It was an old picture, from when they were children that her mother took when she found them sleeping under a tree after they were done playing.

Her eyes stayed on the picture, so she didn't notice his eyes watching her, until he stepped forward. The movement shook her attention and she froze when his lips touched her burning cheek.

What's this?

Laurel Schlitt

What's this? A secret admirer. How cliché.

Arianna closed the card that was attached to the single rose left on her porch this Valentine's morning and set it on the table. She did not have time to worry about school boy crushes; she had more important things to do.

She tossed the rose aside and looked in the mirror to adjust her goggles. Her hair was out of control. She slicked it into a tight pony tail, tightened her brown leather corset, and flew out the door.

Today was the 10th annual nebula racers relay. This would be the first year Arianna was competing, but she had plenty of experience, her brother was champion the first 3 years of the competition after all. She jumped onto her steam powered hover board and floated in line next to the rest of the competitors.

As she was completing her final inspection of her board before the race, the Skylark brothers glided in on either side of her, Rykin on the right in his dark vest with matching dusky hair draped over his eyes, and Henrik on the left sporting his favorite pilots cap and full of energy.

Could it have been one of these boys who left her the rose? She had not given it a second thought earlier; but now, surrounded by them, she was intrigued. She had always been great friends with Henrik and they had so much in common, but Rykin had such mystery about him. No! She cannot be distracted by this now, not when she has trained so hard for this day.

All the contenders were lined up. She looked at Rykin who was staring straight ahead and then to Henrik who gave her thumbs up and a smile. She squatted down waiting for the signal to start the race. The steam whistle blew and they were off.

Arianna squatted as low as she could and dropped down the cliff hovering down a rocky path. Already she was meters ahead of the pack. She didn't look back; she had to plot out the quickest course. She saw a tunnel broken through one of the larger mountains. It looked like a tight squeeze, but she could make it.

She ducked under the roof of the tunnel and avoided the obstacles. Abruptly, a dark figure sped above her. How did he even fit?! Arianna could see the light at the end of the tunnel fade into darkness as Rykin passed through ahead of her. He turned back for just a moment, long enough to knock a rock in her path with the end of his board.

Did he really think he could stop her? She leaned forward going head first through the small gap that was left behind. She did a complete flip catching her board and throwing it back under her feet in time to balance and continue forward.

Just as she was gaining speed to catch up with Rykin, his board began smoking. He must have broken something when he hit that rock. He was still keeping pace with her for the moment. Rykin swerved in front of her to use her board to sustain his. Arianna couldn't control her board with him overtaking her. They were nearing the end of the course, when swiftly Henrik flies in at full speed and knocks Rykin off his board losing his own in the process.

Henrik started to fall, but Arianna caught his hand. He secured himself on her board as they crossed the finish line.

The crowd cheered, the race had two champions this year. Arianna and Henrik smiled at each other held hands and raised them into the air for the spectators. She looked at him and he said "Did you like the rose?"

My name is Laurel Schlitt. I recently discovered Steampunk and have become addicted. I love historical fiction, fantasy, and science fiction. I also love empowered women, romance, and fashion. Steampunk has all that rolled into one.The best part about Steampunk is that is can be anything you dream.

That day, I chose...

Elizabeth

That day, I chose to take my promenade in the public greenhouse. The architecture is of such intelligent design, one might suppose it was daylight being reflected from the panes of glass, not gaslight. I admit, I enjoy my walks in that place far more than is fashionable – the plants smell of home, of soil, and rain – and, when one reaches the back of the greenhouse, the stars stretch around it, the sky presses against the glass, until one feels as if to fall into the aether would be blissfully easy...

But I am usually alone if my fancies lead me to the greenhouse, as many seem to prefer their theatres and fairs, and to indulge the hobbies of their husbands. This day, there was only one other visitor – a man I had never met. I assumed that he had just arrived, and would leave as soon as he understood, that the greenhouse was not remotely Entertaining, but he remained. He seemed perfectly content to marvel at the English soil on this obscure, alien colony, and after a while, he joined me at the edge.

He must have sensed my surprise at finding another there, for, without turning his head, he began to speak.

"'In a field by the river, my love and I did stand/And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand./She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;/But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.'"

This he said so ruefully, I was moved to reply, yet I feared that anything I said would sound shallow and harsh, after he had spoken with such feeling. He turned his head towards me, and said;

"Yeats."

"I beg your pardon?"

"W.B. Yeats' Down by the Salley Gardens. I cannot say it is my favourite poem, or that Yeats is even my favourite poet, but it is the most appropriate."

"You have lost your love?"

"Madam, I lost my life."

He smiled sadly, and indicated that we might walk a little way. I took his arm and followed blindly.

"You stand like a soldier, sir."

"Yes. That was the life I lost, or hoped to lose."

"So the war still rages?"

"It ravages countryside and aethersphere alike."

We spoke at length as we toured the gardens. I don't know for how long we walked, or later, sat talking, or even remember what we discussed for the most part, but we did not leave until the lights began to dim in the greenhouse, and he offered to escort me home.

As we rode the tram over the belt connecting the greenhouse to the mainland, I saw that the town clock indicated that it was night, and that the streetlamps had been lit. By this time, the few who remained on the streets were young couples on their way home from some event or other, loud in rosy and, most likely, alcoholic, merriment. We must have looked so solemn to them, so strange, yet I felt a closeness to this man that was somehow the most impenetrable of barriers.

We slowed as we reached my doorstep, and I felt loath to bid him good-night. So, we stood in silence for an aeon, for longer than I could bear. I turned away to go inside, but he took my wrist in an attempt to stop me. As I looked at him, he said;

"Might I beg of you, a favour?"

"Perhaps."

"Let me conquer worlds in your name."

My name is Elizabeth, and I tend to hail from the more Historically Victorian side of Steampunkerie – I adore the social conventions and the imagination in the era, and love to see that applied to a potentially modern era.

As you may have guessed, I'm more the literary than the inventive type.

The train to Bristol...

Flora

"The train to Bristol is now boarding! Quickly now, quickly now!"

A shrill whistle blew somewhere to his right, and he knew he had to get off the tracks.

"Damn it!"

He rolled out from his hiding place under the train, a drop of perspiration hanging precariously from his pointed nose as he hauled himself up on to the platform. His face was flushed with exertion and the immense heat from the train's underside, but he grinned heartily nonetheless.

"You are a strange man with even stranger hobbies, Mr. Kinchington," remarked a nearby café owner who had stuck his head out his service window. "I cannot understand why anyone would want to spend time under such monstrosities as trains."

"Ah, but Vincent, a train is a monstrosity of great beauty!" Kinchington ruffled the back of his burnished bronzed locks and laughed richly. "If you could only see what I see when I am down there! All the pistons and axles and gauges all working together...it fascinates me how something so complex consists of so many tiny parts that all come together to make the, as you so put it, 'monstrosity' function."

People began to crowd around the train, waiting for the doors to open and conversation became too difficult, so Vincent simply shook his head bemusedly and retreated back in to his café.

Kinchington peeled his heavy gloves from his sweaty hands and adjusted his goggles atop his head as people milled around him. He plucked his father's handkerchief from the front pocket of his worn leather overalls and dabbed at his moist brow. Before he could return the cloth to the safety of his pocket however, a man bustled past him, bumping his shoulder roughly in his haste. Kinchington dropped the handkerchief and watched helplessly as it disappeared under a sea of feet. He got on all fours, swiping desperately at the ground. That handkerchief was all he had left of his father, and to see it being trod on by numerous shoes was distressing and unpleasant to say the least.

Kinchington could only catch brief glances of the yellowing fabric between the gaps between peoples' legs, and they kept disturbing it further and further away from him with the matter-of-fact pace of their feet. It made its way in to a train carriage, but as Kinchington began to make his way to the carriage, the burly stationmaster began to slide the doors shut.

"No, my handkerchief," Kinchington cried. "Somebody, please!"

The people surged forward, rushing to secure their place on the train, and Kinchington felt his handkerchief was lost at that point.

"Here, sir!"

A flash of yellowed cloth appeared in a pale hand above the heads of the hurrying crowd. The faceless ocean of commuters parted a little and Kinchington saw a plump but attractive woman waving his handkerchief in the air. Her cinching corset, well-rounded body and full skirt should have been one giant disaster, but somehow she managed to pull it off, carrying her voluptuous flesh sensuously yet gracefully.

"I believe this is yours," she said breathlessly, her cheeks flushed and her blue eyes twinkling.

"Yes," said Kinchington, wrapping only his index finger and thumb around the handkerchief so that he clasped her hand.

"Thank you, Miss...?"

"Anastasia."

"Anastasia...What a lovely name."

"Why thank you, Mister...?

"Kinchington. Alexander Kinchington."

It was wonderfully strange the way they clicked almost instantly. Neither had felt this tug of endearment before, and yet they knew that they were destined for each other. They were like parts of a train, Kinchington thought. He was the furnace and she the hydraulics system, and together they powered a great locomotive – a locomotive of newly-sprung love.

"Do you perhaps – "

" – wish to accompany you for a little while?"

It was perfect. They smiled warmly at each other, her cheeks dimpling and his reddening as she reached up to his face and wiped away some axle grease with her thumb. As they turned their heel on the tracks, Anastasia gave not a second thought to missing her train as it lurched and pulled out of the station, her fair ringlets bouncing as she strode through the station hand-in-hand with Kinchington, and he thought of nothing but what incredible fortune it was to have met such a brilliant woman. They would make perfect companions for each other in their train-related adventures and escapades.

My name is Flora and I'm the only teenager I know who is a fan of steampunk. I'm only a recent fan though, so I don't know all there is to know about the genre/culture, but what I love most about it is how technology, something generally coined as 'modern', meshes together with the aged and vintage-y ambience of past time periods such as the Victorian Era and the Industrial Revolution to become something innovative yet traditional.

Amara's Valentine

Amara Deegan

Amara Deegan sneered at the valentine on her desk where it had fallen from the unassuming envelope thought on first inspection to be a business letter wishing it would catch fire and die in blazing agony.

A self-made black aether smuggling ship captain simply did not do Valentines! She had spent the last thirty years of her life clawing her way out of the slums and away from the fate that took her parents from her all too early. Not once had let silly notions such as romance interfere with her plans. She quickly conceded the thought admitting to herself that there had been one time... Once was enough! Life lessons were oft hard learned and none involving love could be harder taught that being jilted on your own wedding day. Having to spend time rationalizing the possible reasons all when it's known perfectly well by the fifth hour that he's not coming only to find out he preferred the company of three other women over being married to one. No, once was enough for silly distractions such as love.

And yet, glancing down at the red velvet heart shaped card still laying undisturbed on the spot it had come to rest, her breath had caught and her heart had skipped a beat. It wasn't from who she first imagined it would be from; a man who had tried to woo her wallet more than herself countless times before. She knew the sender well enough and knew his intentions were on the level. Brushing curls of brown out of her face she planted elbows on the desk to lace fingers together and glare hazel eyes over them at the offending note.

How dare he? She had openly rejected him before. Was he thick? Did he honestly believe a flimsy holiday card would catch her eye? She realized all at once that it in fact had. Ah-ha! So that was his game! She picked it up between two fingers and quickly tossed it across the room like flicking a playing card. It made it nearly half way across the cabin of the sky vessel before making a sharp curve up and flittering down to the floor. Displayed obviously in the middle of the hardwood floor disgust her more than when it had been on her desk. Getting up, she wandered over to it and circled it with hands clasped behind her back. The more she tried to find the words to respond with or the reasons why he had even bothered to send it given her very public opinion on such things, the more she failed to find either to be damning enough.

"You're growing soft!" She scoffed to herself, finally bending to pick up the Valentine and hold it out in front of her at eye level as if to inspect it for some hidden message or spring loaded trap.

'For my Valentine. – Lynn' Read the short handwritten message on the back facing of the heart.

No flowery promises of love everlasting. No declarations of intentions. Not even a lewd remark concerning bodies and what they were meant to do together.

Retreating back to her desk, she slammed a crisp piece of paper down in front of her to begin a counter. Once again, no words fiery or damning enough leapt to mind. Instead, all she could picture was the first time she had met the confused and dirty wanderer. He needed a ship to get from Boston to London and stumbled, quite literally, on to hers blinking at everyone before finally uttering his demands. He couldn't pay, but he could work hard and eat little. She would always rationalize it as needing the free labor for a run, but it wasn't the truth. She still didn't fully understand why she had let him on, or let him continue to stay on for a stint through various English ports before she needed to return to Boston. It was confusing to say the least. Yet it had been the happiest summer she had experienced in a while. Her rejection had come at the end that run when he wanted to stay in London and asked her to do so as well.

The pen that had remained poised motionless over the ocean of white finally started to move as if of its own free will. The words flowed simply and quickly now as she thought about him and their brief time together. The message was folded into a fresh envelope and prepared to send out. Smiling at it, her thoughts turned to possible business ventures in London. After all, there was a demand for Black Aether everywhere.

'For MY Valentine. – Amara'

My name is Jennifer and I more commonly go by one of my very long time character names, Amara Deegan, while online or writing stories. Amara started as an OC for, believe it or not, Gundam Wing fanfiction many moons ago. She has since become so much her own character that she is like my daughter. In the since of being similar in ways yet very much her own person, if that makes sense!

I have known about Steampunk for a long time, but never had a name to put to it until January 2011 when I attended Wild Wild West Steampunk Con in Tucson, AZ after moving here from San Jose, California. It was that long lost, at last I am at home kind of feeling the more I get into Steampunk in general. I absolutely adore the maker/tinkerer aspect and have started my own Etsy shop (http://www.etsy.com/shop/CaptainAmaraDeegan). I make tie-on bustles, fairy wings, and Steampunk and Sci-Fi inspired affordable guns. They may not have all the bells and whistles of intricately decorated guns. My aim was to make great looking guns (most of which are working water guns) that are more realistically affordable ranging $10-$25.

I honestly couldn't imagine my life without Steampunk in it to some extent. I grew up on Sherlock Holmes, Dickens, Jules Verne, and such. I have always had a love of the Victorian and Edwardian periods, even though I know that is not the only aspect or era of Steampunk with it's ever growing myriad of sub-genres. I currently at the Navigatrix (co-organizer) of the Tucson Steampunk Society.

Over and over the construction was wrong...

Alandria Cruxiel

Over and over the construction was wrong, the construction was always wrong. Hunched over the so called operating table with only the sounds of the whirring and beating of tools on their canvas... Could this template be correct? The failures hovered around him offering their pleas and unwanted assistance to their master. That one creaked far too often, this one moves far too robotically, those ones in shambles on the floor were entirely inoperable. He would get it eventually, every failure meant he was so much closer to success. Wouldn't it be grand? On this Valentine's day, to finally correct the equations and schematics littered with gears and gizmos?

Quite suddenly, there was the tell-tale breath of life and the unavoidable cloud of monochromatic smoke filling the air. This happened, of course, with every android he would create. It was his favorite part, you see. To breathe in the steam and ash, the heat searing his throat and lungs as his goggles clouded and were suddenly too snug upon his face. With his senses blinded, there was always the flicker of hope that would appear: maybe this one really will turn out just right! He was always disappointed, however, when the smog would dissipate. But then, there she was.

Stunning, new, and oh so very flawless. Her plates shifted and her falsified skin stretch with the first movements of her curious limbs. She scanned her environment slowly and cautiously and when her eyes fell upon him, he was so overjoyed. Years and years of work, finally it meant something! She was more than he could have ever expected or even asked for. "Love me..." he breathed, pulling her newly formed lips to his own. After so very, very long! He had achieved his longest life goal. He puffed with pride and gratification. They pulled apart and she smiled at him, so genuine and pure. It was the most breathtaking thing he had ever encountered. She replied, delicately, and with the voice even a choir of angels could not hope to acquire; "Absolutely not."

My short story is a short short story, and a bit more anti-valentine, really. But anyhoo, I'm Alandria, I mostly paint and rarely write but I figured I should give it a shot. Steampunk is just an aesthetically pleasing style to me and I've been interested in it ever since I learned it even existed. Hopefully that suits the bio portion of this? But yup anyway here's the super short story doodad.

Dumb Luck: a Steampunk Short Story

A. E. McCullough

Do you remember the day that changed your life? I do. It was Valentine's Day and I lost my two best friends that night. Talk about bad luck.

Chauncey, Eleanor and I were friends since childhood. Even back then Chauncey was lucky; everyone knew that, including him, hence why we just called him Chance.

Good luck seemed to follow him, like the time we served in the Her Majesty's Calvary and participated in the now famous 'Charge of the Light Brigade.' I lost my right arm to the Cossacks' dammed artillery and what did Chance get out of it? A scar on his right cheek and a medal, pure luck. Yes, I too got the same medal and a new arm but to top off his good fortune when we returned home Chance married Eleanor, the prettiest girl in five boroughs; lucky bastard.

I'd grown so accustomed to Chance's lucky streak, that when he told me that he had been invited to an exclusive private gambling house on the other side of the Thames, I jumped at the opportunity to join him even though it meant spending Valentine's Day night without my wife. But she understood and we had a wonderful day together. Before I headed out the door, I made sure that my arm was properly oiled and its fuel reservoir was full. My lovely wife handed me my bowler hat, gave me a kiss and I stepped out into the cold evening air. The lamplighter who worked our borough was just making his rounds. I gave him a nod and walked up the block to Chance's house.

When I arrived, he gave Eleanor a kiss and rushed out to the waiting Stanley. I remember thinking that Ellie looked upset but she smiled briefly at me before heading back inside. Donning our goggles, we headed into town. We didn't talk much during the drive, since the steamer was a bit loud. All too soon we arrived at our destination. I remember thinking that it was a very inconspicuous building just a stone's throw from the Charing Cross railway station. Once inside, the Gambling House was larger than life; bright lights, red carpets and lots of women. This should've been my first hint of things to come but as always, I followed Chance's lead.

Without skipping a beat, Chance proceeded into the establishment with a buxom blonde, dressed in a tight corset and little else, on each arm. I watched for a moment before a beautiful brunette offered to guide me to our reserved table. Later, I would find out these ladies were in the pay of the proprietor and whose sole duty consisted of enticing patrons to gamble. I vaguely became aware of the press of bodies to my right and left, there were hundreds of people standing behind ropes but then the brunette moved up close, pressed her ample chest into me and whispered something that was lost in the noise. Nodding like an idiot, I let myself be led inside.

Chance was already at the table by the time I arrived and the gambling had begun. Looking around, I vaguely noted that the majority of the crowd was focused on our table. A sudden cheer brought my attention back to the game. Chance had just shown his hand, a jack high straight; a winning hand.

As the dealer pushed over his chips, he buried his face into the bosom of one the blondes sitting beside him. The dealer cleared his throat to get Chance's attention before dealing. Chance won again and again. Then, he would lose a hand but win the next three. This pattern continued and players dropped out until it was down to two, Chance and the old man. When the next hand had been dealt, Chance just sat there looking all smug. The old man had a stone face but his eyes looked worried as he chewed on his cigar and studied his cards.

The tension in the room was heavy and the crowd was silent in anticipation as the old man showed his cards.

"Full boat, Aces over Ladies."

Grinning, Chance moved to turn over his hand. The crowd seemed to hold its breath.

It was at that moment when Ellie stepped out of the crowd. She was wearing a red leather corset that accented her figure nicely. Her hair was pulled back off her face giving her a very regal look and her makeup was perfect, bright red lips and all. She was dressed to kill. The only thing that stood out in stark contrast to her beauty was the shiny silver revolver that she was pointing at Chance's chest.

Sooner or later, luck always runs out. Dumb Luck.

A.E.McCullough – self-published novelist

"I love you"...

Tom O'Carmody

"I love you," I whispered softly into the ear of Abbygail, the girl of my dreams.

She thought about this for a moment, looking curiously at me with her big brown eyes, twinkling brightly in the candle light of my lantern under long, dark eyelashes that framed them in just the right way with their subtle curvature.

"How come?" she asked playfully in her sweetest, most innocent voice, smiling with her perfectly shaped, perfectly red lips and her shining white teeth.

I smiled back, thinking about this.

"You're beautiful," I paused, suddenly nervous, "but you're also a beautiful person. You are so sweet, so kind, so gentle, but you aren't afraid to put up a fight. You can make me so nervous that I'm shaking, but in an instant you can relax me, with just a touch that sends chills down my spine. You make me smile just my looking at you, but you can make me cry with a word. I gave myself over to you without even realizing it."

Now she was just gazing at me, impossible to read. She looked so serene with her brown hair glittering in the light of the lantern, her sweet, subtle expression either uncertain or disappointed; lost in hopeful fantasy or in pain of memory. Her hand, dressed in a laced-up brown fingerless glove, slid its way up her leather-bound figure to a small golden locket that had been buried in the white ruffles of her collar. I hadn't noticed it before. She clutched it gently in her fist and closed her eyes, a single tear taking its solemn journey down her cheek.

Feeling guilty, I prepared an apology, but when I attempted to put it into words, I said instead, "I love you because you taught me how to love."

She opened her eyes, her expression now somewhat surprised, but still calm, still peaceful. For the life of me, I could not tell how she would react to my slip-up.

Her hand let go of the locket and she stepped forward, throwing her arms around my neck with a kiss that lasted forever. I dropped the lantern on the ground and hugged her tightly back, feeling the warmth of her body under her clothes.

And then she smiled, and her face lit up under the tears that now streaked her face, her eyes still closed and our heads resting together, her hand on my shoulder, both of mine on her waist. And then she opened her eyes, and said, still smiling, those words that have echoed in my mind ever since.

"I love you too."

Hmm... Well, my girlfriend's name is Abbygail, spelled that way, so that's why that's done that way. She would absolutely LOVE that corset, so I figured, what better way to acquire a Valentine's Day present than by writing a cute little love story? So, I don't know. Enjoy

Captain Katherine Wakefield looked out...

Cassidy Q.

Captain Katherine Wakefield looked out toward the sea from her seated position in the sand. The moonlight glittered across the sweeping waves. A bonfire raged next to her, its flames reaching skyward in an attempt to grasp attention of passing airships.

The island wasn't big enough for her to escape the sounds of laughing and dancing and the playing of instruments back toward the wreckage of her crashed ship. The revelry basked in the glorious night of the holiday dedicated to lovers. Cool wind came in off the sea with the smell of salt and freedom.

Katherine's thoughts rested more on rescue. Why should she be distracted with thoughts of love and romance this eve? Especially when the only person she would want to celebrate this occasion with was probably miles away. And that person was hardly befitting a captain of the Imperial Armada.

"Captain Wakefield," came a voice from behind Katherine.

No. Not her. Not here, not now, not tonight.

Katherine got to her feet and, without turning to face the woman behind her, said, "Captain de la Fuente. Come to rub salt in the wounds, have we?"

"Not at all," came the amused response. Katherine could hear the woman's footsteps in the sand. "In fact, I have come here to rescue you, my captain." Arms looped around Katherine's waist and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Unhand me, pirate," Katherine said, setting her jaw and clenching her fists.

The pirate captain moved her lips closer to Katherine's ear and whispered, "Is that what you really want?" She could practically hear the widening grin in the woman's voice as she added, "Just say that it's what you really want, and I'll do it. Your wish is my command, my captain."

Katherine opened her eyes, shoved away from the pirate, and spun on her foot to face the other woman. But as soon as she did, she knew she had made a mistake. "Isabella, I–"

That was the only opening the pirate needed. She dashed in and pulled the Imperial captain into a dance. "Yes, my love?"

Katherine frowned. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"Why, chasing you, of course!" Isabella said. Katherine took careful note of the way the embers of the firelight reflected and danced in the pirate's chocolatey brown eyes. And the way the pirate's lipstick glistened across her lips, a mischievous smirk threatening and teasing the Imperial captain's sense of propriety.

"Well," Katherine said with a resigned sigh. "I'm glad you found me."

"As am I," Isabella said with a grin. She released the Imperial captain and began to walk away toward where her ship hovered close over the island. "Though there is a price for me rescuing you."

"Oh?" Katherine said, raising an eyebrow. "I should have known there was something. What is it?"

"One date," Isabella said, a laugh tricking through her words.

Katherine frowned and said, "Fine. But this time, _I_ get to say where you take me."

I'm Cassidy, and I like pretty much any speculative fiction. Anything that breaks away from the norm. And definitely anything that has interesting aesthetics in the way that steampunk does.

David landed, feline-silent

Michael Grey

David landed, feline-silent. His soles slid a fraction on the rain slick tiles, but the slipper treads, his own design, gripped before he could push off, running on over the roof.

A gibbous moon delineated the roofscape into shades of grey, outlined in silver. Below David's feet the guards needed their lanterns and search lights, but up here, he stepped lightly and surely.

For the sheer joy of it he pirouetted over a gap, spinning silently just feet above the head of one sentry, to land on the next building. He could have laughed, whooped, punched the air just to feel it slide between his fingers. He reached the roof's end, launched himself into space, reached for his next landing. And fell.

He knew the roofs like he knew his own hands. Where was...? Yesterday's storm.

The lightning.

Was there something about a fire?

The scorched rafters now flashing upwards before his eyes confirmed the suspicion.

So much for being graceful. He twisted, reaching beneath his cloak as he spun, and pulled the spring gun. Eighty feet? If not, it would be soon.

He fired, the gun's kick adding to his downward speed before its tip embedded in mortar, trailing a gossamer thread to the gun where David gripped it in gloved hands. The thread went taut, adapting his fall into a swoop, swinging him over the cobbles. A patrolling guard looked up, wondering why birds were flying at night, but saw nothing outside of the shadows.

David, the microhooks in his gloves and slippers allowing him to cling to a building's dark side, breathed. Cocky. Too cocky. Dead embassy staff, even guards, are something which tend to be commented upon. He kicked out, propelling himself to the facing wall, and used the opposing buildings to jump upwards.

And now there was only the final jump. He stood on the verge of a hundred foot drop. Between him and his target, the embassy's searchlight. Perched on its own tower, and bathing the courtyard in a rotating patch of sun.

He judged the distance. Cracked his knuckles. Grinned. Too easy. But the near miss earlier urged caution. He gave into it and allowed a three step run up.

He catapulted into space. Around him, air. Above, only stars. Below... damp cobbles, swiftly rising up.

The spring gun came out again. Fired. The search light's operator felt a slight shudder on his platform and made a mental note to report it the next morning, missing completely the darker patch of night sailing past him.

David landed on the balcony in a half crouch, one knee down, head bowed, his cloak falling about him in a suitably pleasing style. You have to think of the look of the thing.

The effect was spoiled somewhat when he looked up and the bedchamber was empty. The lanterns lit, the plump burgundy linen made, but empty of people.

He sighed, but pulled the package from his cloak and slid it on a table.

"You know we have servants for that kind of thing?"

The voice was rich, like velvet. The effect it had on his spine and made him smile as much as its unexpected entry.

She came from behind the curtain. Her lips curled in a self-satisfied smile.

"Now where would be the fun in that?"

She smiled again and picked up the package. "David. You shouldn't have."

He bowed theatrically, one hand sweeping floor, and said, "It's all because my lady loves them," as she pulled the first chocolate from the box.

Hi all, my name's Michael, my favourite colour is blue and I like long walks on the beach.

Oh, and steampunk. Never forget the steampunk.

The first story I sold in fact was steampunk, in the first Penny Dread Tales anthology, and I'm currently working on a novel that explores the question 'what would the Napoleonic wars have been like if Bonaparte had access to giant tanks?'

Bit of a spoiler, but the answer is 'so much more awesome'.

"Not another one"

Sharyn

"Not another one," Penelope sighed, placing the damaged book on the table in front of her. "If you're looking for poetry, I'm afraid we've no more in stock," she called, coming to her feet.

"I'm not looking for a book," a young boy stated, coming to a halt in front of her table. He placed a large box on the table. "I was instructed to deliver this to Miss Penelope Moorland."

Penelope looked at the box and then back at the boy. "I'm Miss Penelope Moorland."

He smiled widely. "Then this is for you."

"Might I know who sent it?"

His smile faltered. "I'm not allowed to say, Miss. He told me to deliver the box and then give you a small message after you've opened it."

"Oh. Very well then." While puzzled at the boy's instructions, it was Valentine's Day and suitors loved to surprise the objects of their affections. Penelope untied the ribbon and lifted the lid off the box. Nestled on a black fur was an intricately detailed doll. She gasped and glanced at the dolls on the shelf beside her. For a moment, she allowed herself to hope the doll was a gift from Caleb. Blinking back the tears threatening to fall, she lifted the doll out of the box and placed it on the table.

Easily half a meter in height, the doll was dressed like a tinkerer. It had a leather apron filled with tools, goggles perched on its head, and smudge marks on its cheeks. There was something clasped in its hands.

Penelope tried to pull the hands apart but they refused to move. She glanced back in the box and saw a small key.

"It's a beautiful doll, Miss," the boy offered.

"That it is." She held up the key. "It's clockwork. Would you like to see?"

He nodded.

She turned the doll around, inserted the key into the slot on the back, and turned it to the left. The doll slowly lifted its left arm, revealing the item in its hand. Nestled in the palm of the right hand was a vivid red heart. With trembling fingers she picked up the heart to read the inscription.

It will always be yours.

She gasped. Was it truly possible? Was the doll from Caleb?

"Who sent this?"

"He was adamant I not reveal his identity," the boy said, fidgeting slightly.

Penelope studied the boy, noting the crimson and gold uniform and the cephalopod insignia. "You serve aboard the H.M.A. Kraken?"

He nodded.

Her mind whirled. Caleb was the main engineer aboard the Kraken. She allowed hope to flourish.

"I'm to give you a message now, Miss."

"Oh, yes," she gave the boy her full attention.

"We sail at a dawn."

"That's the message?"

"Yes, Miss." His task complete, the boy turned on his heel and walked out.

Penelope sank into her chair and studied the heart in her hand. Should she seize the chance to follow her heart and join Caleb aboard the Kraken?

She glanced around the store and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. What about her family? Could she leave them? Her father depended on her so. And the little ones...would they ever understand?

I love the beauty and imagination present in Steampunk. It appeals the writer and artist in me. I incorporate my love of steampunk into everything I do, especially in homeschooling my children.

The Bounty

Rachel Klingberg

I ordered lookouts posted at all corners of the _Airstreak_ and asked my pilot to zig-zag slowly over the Sands of Araby, ignoring her sympathetic glance. I went into my day cabin, sinking into the plush sofa, and propped my boots up on the coffee table. My steward glided in silently; the only staff who could enter my quarters unbidden. He tugged my boots off with a compassionate glance that I wanted to slap right off his face. I hated the way he pampered me, as if I was an invalid. On the other hand, after the last sand storm when I had stood on deck for 21 exhausting hours, he had undressed me tenderly, rubbed me with warm Turkish towels, put my feet into a steaming basin of hot water, and slipped a clean nightshirt over my head. Being in navigational hell for an entire day called for coddling. Longing for my long-lost sweetheart was no one's business but my own, yet somehow my entire crew seemed privy to it.

Although my intention was to stay alert as long as we were above Araby, I awoke to the tinkling of the aft lookout ringing the signal bells: _strange sail on the horizon_. I raced into the cockpit, not bothering with shoes. Eagerly I peered through the spyglass the pilot handed me. The billowing silk of the strange vessel was midnight blue, barely visible in the dawn sky, but I knew it well.

"Summon me when they're within grappling range." I ordered a signal broadcasted: _prepare to be boarded_. The signal came flying back: _negative, request permission to come aboard_. Then the sudden jolt, the sound of grappling hooks latching onto our side as our two ships were coupled together.

"Damn him!" I cried. "I will meet him alone," I said. With racing heart I descended down to the gondola. Through the frosted glass appeared the handsome visage of my lover, my enemy, my valuable hostage, and the scourge of the Imperial Airways. The glass pane slid open. "Captain Wright," he said, with a charming smile. "What a pleasure to see you again." He wore the dashing costume of the privateer: a red brocade sash about his waist, a huge curled feather in his tricorne hat. In the service even our hair was regulated, tightly clubbed and powdered, and there was something decadent about the long, loose hair cascading freely down his shoulders. He had grown a tiny, wicked-looking goatee, and his moss-green eyes twinkled as ever. I wanted to slap his insolent face for all the heartache he had put me through.

"You are wanted on nine continents, you scoundrel. If I turned you in, the bounty would make me rich beyond my wildest dreams. They might hang you for desertion, and I wouldn't be the least bit sorry."

"They can hang me tomorrow. Let us dine together and enjoy today. I brought your favorite sweet. You cannot find them for love or money, except on the black market." He held out his hand, and I automatically extended mine to meet it. He slid a small pouch into my palm, and folded my fingers around it, and then his fingers were around mine, and it was only a matter of closing a gap of a few inches before my head rested on his shoulder, and his hand stroked my hair. I wanted clap the irons on his wrists; I had worn them on my belt since the day he had fled. But my heart defied all reason, and I found myself leading him not to the brig, but to my cabin, leading him by the hand, which still clasped my fingers wrapped around the silk bag of candied rose petals.

Rachel Klingberg is a writer and nineteenth-centurist who lives in New York City.

The night was drawing to a close...

Ruby Perkins

The night was drawing to a close as the young couple walked from the Valentine's Day ball. The chances of them meeting had been very slim but the fact that they had and were able to spend this evening together made it worth it. To say that they were kindred spirits was an understatement. Skarlet; a pale doll created for beauty and grace, had been very bored at the beginning of the evening. A ball was not her type of fun, the crowds of inventors, airship captains, and British aristocracy. She was much too shy to speak and her creator had told her to go meet other creations while he spoke of his research on the jungles of South America. Standing alone on the outside of the crowd she gazed across the ball room floor to spot a mysterious stranger, an automaton of the color silver. His voice was loud and jovial as he told stories and jokes to the young ladies that sat around him. Skarlet carefully picked through the crowd, unsure about what she was doing. As she approached the table she let out a small "Hi" which at first went unnoticed.

She stood there and found herself entranced in his stories so much so in fact she did not see him move till he was standing in front of her. His warm smile made her circuits spark, the mysterious bot gave her an easy grin "the name's Hatter, I am glad to make your acquaintance, miss?" "S-Skarlet" she replied quickly mentally cursing herself for glitching. He chuckled and held out his hand, "care for a dance?" he allowed her to take his hand and suddenly she was out on the dance floor. His embrace was warm yet formal and after composing herself she quietly asked "why choose me?" Hatter's blue eyes shined in a way she had only seen once. Hatter was mesmerized by the sight of the young lady, her mix-match eyes gleamed with emotion. Her body fit against his so elegantly it was like she had been made for him, her smile shined brighter than the silver matter coursing through his veins. His heart begged his mind to say something but her gentle expression took all the words from him and he could only gaze at her soft gaze and wish for words that would not come. When the song came to an end Skarlet gently stood on her tip-toes and smiled gently "I know of a wonderful table out in the garden, care for tea and conversation?" She grabbed his hand and pulled him quickly out the large doors at the back of the ballroom.

Hatter found himself in an amazingly vast garden. The early February air smelled of Asian magnolias and pansies. Skarlet led him to a table underneath a magnolia tree. Hatter quickly stepped forward and pulled Skarlet's chair out for her. They smiled at each other and Hatter gently grabbed Skarlet's hand. She spoke gently "I wish I could smile, so I could express how much I really like you." Her eyes glittered as he slowly leaned forward and gently kissed her. The night ended too quickly for both of them and they soon said their farewells and followed their respective creator's homes. Skarlet had had the best Valentine's Day of her existence and as her creator helped her prepare for bed he spoke up "Skarlet, I noticed you and a young gentleman. Would you like to see him again?" Skarlet's eyes lit up like diamond and she practically yelled "Yes please sir!!" Skarlet powered down that knowing that she and Hatter would have many more adventures.

Ruby Perkins is a student and aspiring artist of many trades. Steampunk calls to me as freedom and gives me power to express myself artistically

The Genuine Article

Virginia M. Sanders

On a cold February evening, John Oscar Holloway fell in love at first sight when he walked into a crowded ballroom.

From a distance he saw her, elegant and poised, standing within a circle of men and women. Her hair glistened like gold spun into silk, her milky skin seemed almost to shimmer, and her eyes sparkled like morning dew. She was petite, with a delicate waist, and she smiled demurely. In her left hand, she held up a copper box with three red buttons.

John decided that he would meet her that night, win her love, and speak with her father at the first available opportunity.

In the next moment, one of the lady's admirers pressed the middle button on the copper box, and the lady began to move her arms and head in a series of precise motions, like a bird . . . like a machine. When her routine was done, she resumed her resting position and fell still as her admirers laughed and applauded.

The cold of winter encased John's heart. At long last, he had found his ideal, the perfection he sought, but she was nothing more than a doll.

Eudora Weathersby approached John, ignoring the gasps from others at her boldness. John could barely take his eyes away from the clockwork lady to greet the real one. She met his gaze at eye level, Amazon that she was.

"Miss Weathersby. She—it is your creation, I presume? She—it is a masterpiece."

"Yes indeed, Mr Holloway. Although I must say, I couldn't have done it without the inspiration I received from your own ingenious inventions," she said with an inclination of her head, her brown, frizzy curls bouncing.

John smiled politely, but his eyes were drawn once more to the artificial angel. Looking upon her again, especially after viewing the mortal female by his side, enflamed his soul and made a mockery of him all in the same moment. Oh, for such a creature to be real and alive.

"You know," continued Miss Weathersby, "I remember the first time I saw you, leaning over your workbench with your magnification glasses askew and a miniaturized engine in your hand. I thought you were the perfect clockwork man."

Her voice buzzed in his ear like a gnat. If only the doll could speak, her voice would sound like the ringing of a silver bell.

"Falling in love with someone who will never return your affections — it hurts desperately, doesn't it?" Miss Weathersby asked. Had he been looking at her, he would have seen something cold and fragile in her blue eyes. "I thought I would return the favor. If you ask nicely, perhaps I'll make the next version able to dance."

John Holloway continued to stare at the clockwork lady another moment, but then Eudora's words pierced through the fog in his mind. When he turned to look at her, he saw only her back as she walked away.

I'm Virginia M. Sanders. I blog at http://kisschronicles.com. What I love about steampunk is its slippery, adaptable nature. It defies definition, and yet it's highly recognizable. Also, steampunk is just incredibly sexy.

The din of the crowded club...

John J. Gray

The din of the crowded club was loud and hurt the eardrum as it beat away against it, it was near impossible to hear your own thoughts over everyone else's words, but even so my vision was perfectly clear. I saw her sitting across the room from me and could not pull my eyes from her visage, as the band took the stage I worked up my nerve and went over to her, trying to introduce myself but stopping feet from her, my mind blank and empty of any words. I had lost any semblance of sentient thought and was only able to stare, though the moment didn't need any words as she looked back up at me, the band began to sing one my favorite songs, as she stood, she took my numb hand and brought me back to life, leading me to the dance floor, thank goodness for those wonderful musicians. If they hadn't started playing I might of stood there for an eternity, a statue frozen by fear of rejection. All around us fine men with tall top hats danced around, women in the most beautiful of dress, this was by no means a collection of lords and ladies, most of us fought against the authoritarian society that horribly oppressed us. We only wanted to be free, a want for freedom that had cost far too many of us our lives, my families included in that. I was taken in by a man of the resistance, a man who was a spy in the government of our country. The date of course was February 14th, 1915 and it was a lukewarm spring evening. This small Ball was to commemorate the date of our leader's decision to fight back, Lady Crim Scarlet was her name. This woman who had lost her husband after the government deemed him a traitor years ago, she began our revolution. They beheaded him publicly on this day, so long ago, as punishment for his wrongdoing. She had sworn to end the years of horror after that, and she began to gather what she would need to do just that.

The following year, every imprisoned 'traitor' was freed during her attack on God's Gear island. My parent's were with her that night, along with a handful of other people who would now fight bravely for their freedom rather than hide in the darkness and weep for the lost. Sadly though they were lost that night, freeing the very man who would later adopt me. While he was a higher up in the resistance few trusted him, and by extension I was viewed as such as well. Lower than dirt we were, no other way to describe it.

As we danced though, I don't think I ever felt it as much as I had before, everyone stared at us, making crude remarks though my partner's eyes never left my gaze and she smiled happily at me as we made our way through the crowded dance floor. We were right in front of the stage when everything in my world went wrong. The secret door leading to our headquarters was blown off its hinges as men burst into the room light lightning arcing across the sky, government soldiers with one order. End the resistance. Tonight. I knew we didn't have much time so I grabbed the hand of my love and ran with her up over the stage, somehow we managed to get backstage with the band and were able to slip unnoticed out the back into the busy city streets, a small group of seven people. The band of course and me and her, "I'm Jack, Jack Gray, what's your name?" I asked her, trying to cheer her up after all hope seemed to go away from the world. "I'm Skye Scarlet, nice to meet you Mr. Gray" She said and gave me a smile that brightened my life. I remember the night fondly, it was the night I knew we could still win this war, the night I knew I would win this war if I were the only one to fight for it. Because now, I had something beautiful, something amazing to protect. lub was loud and hurt the eardrum as it beat away against it, it was near impossible to hear your own thoughts over everyone else's words, but even so my vision was perfectly clear. I saw her sitting across the room from me and could not pull my eyes from her visage, as the band took the stage I worked up my nerve and went over to her, trying to introduce myself but stopping feet from her, my mind blank and empty of any words. I had lost any semblance of sentient thought and was only able to stare, though the moment didn't need any words as she looked back up at me, the band began to sing one of their most famous songs, Sugar Wasp, as she stood, she took my numb hand and brought me back to life, leading me to the dance floor, thank goodness for those wonderful Automaton's, The Vapor Driven Men. If they hadn't started playing I might of stood there for an eternity, a statue frozen by fear of rejection. All around us fine men with tall top hats danced around, women in the most beautiful of dress, this was by no means a collection of lords and ladies, most of us fought against the authoritarian society that horribly oppressed us. We only wanted to be free, a want for freedom that had cost far too many of us our lives, my families included in that. I was taken in by a man of the resistance, a man who was a spy in the government of our country. The date of course was February 14th, 1915 and it was a lukewarm spring evening. This small Ball was to commemorate the date of our leader's decision to fight back, Lady Crim Scarlet was her name. This woman who had lost her husband after the government deemed him a traitor years ago, she began our revolution. They beheaded him publicly on this day, so long ago, as punishment for his wrongdoing. She had sworn to end the years of horror after that, and she began to gather what she would need to do just that.

The following year, every imprisoned 'traitor' was freed during her attack on God's Gear island. My parent's were with her that night, along with a handful of other people who would now fight bravely for their freedom rather than hide in the darkness and weep for the lost. Sadly though they were lost that night, freeing the very man who would later adopt me. While he was a higher up in the resistance few trusted him, and by extension I was viewed as such as well. Lower than dirt we were, no other way to describe it.

As we danced though, I don't think I ever felt it as much as I had before, everyone stared at us, making crude remarks though my partner's eyes never left my gaze and she smiled happily at me as we made our way through the crowded dance floor. We were right in front of the stage when everything in my world went wrong. The secret door leading to our headquarters was blown off its hinges as men burst into the room light lightning arcing across the sky, government soldiers with one order. End the resistance. Tonight. I knew we didn't have much time so I grabbed the hand of my love and ran with her up over the stage, somehow we managed to get backstage with the band and were able to slip unnoticed out the back into the busy city streets, a small group of seven people. The band of course and me and her, "I'm Jack, Jack Gray, what's your name?" I asked her, trying to cheer her up after all hope seemed to go away from the world. "I'm Skye Scarlet, nice to meet you Mr. Gray" She said and gave me a smile that brightened my life. I remember the night fondly, it was the night I knew we could still win this war, the night I knew I would win this war if I were the only one to fight for it. Because now, I had something beautiful, something amazing to protect.

John J. Gray is a young, aspiring writer who dabbles in many genre's of fiction and ink. Currently, only 2 of his poems are published separately, more may be compiled into a book, very, very soon. This story, written for someone very special to me, it's all for her and I hope you find my story to your liking. For her sake.

Silence, broken by the awkward ticks...

Lady Jade Summers

Silence, broken by the awkward ticks of grandfather clock filling the small, austere room.

Finally, "Oh, for heaven's sake. This is going too far."

A replying sniff. "Nevertheless, I have spoken only of incontestable fact."

Lady Jaida crossed her arms. Leather creaked, loudly.

"And you needn't cross your arms at me like that," Valentina said.

"Convince me," Jaida said. She irritably flicked a lock of black hair over her shoulder.

Valentina heaved a sigh. "Very well." The fair-haired young woman, with a petulant expression that rather spoiled her cherubic countenance, turned and lifted a small iron-bound casket from the bare shelf behind her. "I was instructed to reveal this only in the event that our presentation, _irrefutable though it may be,_ was insufficient in your sharp, though lovely, eyes."

"Keep flirting with me like that and you'll be in imminent danger of breaking your order's vows," Jaida said dryly, with a twist to her red lacquered lips. "Get on with it, please?"

Valentina snickered. "As my lady wishes." She produced a key and unlocked the casket. The interior was of faded velvet and the contents resembled nothing so much as brown, dry leaves. Jaida lifted an eyebrow as Valentina pulled a pair of silk gloves from her novice's habit and handled the parchment scraps as if they were the crown jewels of England.

The eyebrow came down as soon as she realized what was written _on_ the leaves. "No," she breathed.

"Oh, yes," Valentina said, only a _trifle_ smug.

"The Claudius Codex," Jaida said. "May I–" Valentina slapped her eager hands away. Jaida rolled her eyes and pulled on her own gloves. She examined the leaves.

"Oh," she said.

"Incredible," she muttered.

"I must set out at once," she exclaimed, and would have whirled around to leave the convent post-haste if Valentina had not laid a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"What requirements do you need _now?"_ Jaida said, her body falling into defensive lines. The novice clucked in her best Mother Matron style, but could not hide the eager sparkle in her eyes from the other woman.

"Only this," Valentina said. "I'm coming with you."

–36 hours and one costume change later–

"Tell me," Jaida said, landing in the sewer with a squelching splash that didn't bear thinking of. _"Why_ exactly did you want to come along again?" She whirled as best as she could in the ankle-deep mud, giving thanks to the makers of sturdy boots, and fired warning shots at the shouting minions charging around the corner.

"Oh, nothing much. Adventure," Valentina said, hefting the Burleigh & Smith Mk. II Flamethrower ("Dispatching your enemies in Biblical style!") with worrying ease. It spat fire at the minions charging around the opposite corner. "The chance to recover a priceless relic for history." The minions shot back. They ducked. "Glory for the order and St. Valentine." She put her back to Jaida's and the between the two of them, they made short work of the insane, murderous resurrected Roman Emperor's footsoldiers. At least for five minutes.

In the ensuing quiet, their frantic reloading sounded loud in the stone tunnelway. Jaida felt for the purloined heartstone, tucked safely in its makeshift bag. It pulsed, disturbingly, and she made a face.

Then she looked up.

Valentina's grin was wild. "And _you."_ She licked her lips. Jaida opened her mouth to say...something, she didn't know–

" _IBI SUNT!"_ More Latin-screaming minions charged around the corner. "OCCIDITE EOS!"

Jaida sighed. "Hold that thought."

By unspoken agreement, they practiced the better part of valor and ran like hell.

–23 minutes later–

"Well, that's that, I suppose."

"Yes," Jaida said. The Basilica of Santa Maria would never be the same, but on the other hand, the insane, murderous resurrected Roman Emperor had failed to get his hands on the priceless Amoris Potestate, which had been safely returned to Valentina's order, and the aforementioned Emperor had been sent back to his unquiet rest at the bottom of the river. "I don't envy your people the clean-up."

Valentina groaned. "Please, refrain from reminding me, I beg you."

"If I recall correctly, you were ready to beg for something quite different," Jaida said, and caught her breath at the flood of heat in Valentina's eyes. "But," she added, suddenly self-conscious, "I wouldn't want to tempt you to break your vows–"

"The vows." Valentina smiled and set the flamethrower down on a ruined pew. "My Mother Superior always likes to say, 'she who abides by the rules too often and too long, is one who is plainly no fun to be around.'"

"Oh," Jaida said, absently.

"Yes." Valentina wrapped her hands around Jaida's hips. "What are you thinking so hard about, my lady?"

"I was thinking perhaps the proprietor of the St. Regis Grand could be bribed to overlook particular goings-on in my hotel room tonight."

For all her air of confident seduction, Valentina couldn't hide the catch in her breath. "Then what are we waiting for?"

"Nothing." Jaida said, and smiled. "I suppose it is Valentine's Day, after all."

fin.

Lady Jade Summers is a person and a character in the real and fictional Airship Vindus. She writes occasionally, produces short films occasionally, and spends too much time on the Internet.

Anna drew in a sharp breath...

Emma Woods

Anna drew in a sharp breath as the man in the black hood raised his dagger. He sliced open her shirt revealing the corset underneath, specially designed to flatten her chest and disguise her curves.

"He's a woman!" he grabbed her arm and made her face the crowd which jeered and laughed. But despite their noise, Anna could still hear the slow click of the execution device drawing its blade up to the top. Once the clicking stopped, her life would end.

"It cannot be!" someone exclaimed. "The pirate captain Travers, the man who has plagued our skies for so long, cannot be a woman!"

Anna almost smiled. The pirate captain Travers was indeed not a woman but as he always wore a mask he was easy to impersonate. And he would continue to plague their skies, relieving the rich of their excess wealth, freeing those who would be traded as slaves and fighting to bring justice to this corrupt world. He was ready to die for his cause, and she was ready to die for him.

Behind her, the officer finished reading the list of her crimes, and the monk stepped forward to her side; "Any last words?"

The clicking stopped.

Anna closed her eyes; "I regret nothing."

"Really?" the monk snorted, "Then you should come out drinking with me!"

That voice! Anna stared, startled. She knew that voice and he was certainly no monk! The executioner realised this too but too late. He found a flintlock pistol mounted on a spring aimed between his eyes.

"You do not execute the Pirate Captain Travers today!" the monk declared throwing off his hood. He pulled on a mask. "For I am the great Captain Travers!"

"Rhys! What are you doing?" Anna hissed. He was as much Captain Travers as he was a monk! She heard the officer drawing his sword but, hands bound, could do nothing! "Look out!"

But before the officer could strike he found a blade at his throat, wielded by another masked man, this one the real Captain Travers; even masked Anna recognised him.

"The officer wants Captain Travers!" he shouted. "So let him see the real scourge of the skies!"

At his cue, others ran forwards, pulling on masks and subduing the guards, each one declaring "I am the real Captain Travers!"

Anna laughed. There was Katrina, her long blonde hair flowing free, no attempt made to disguise her womanhood, and there Boxy with his beard showing under the edge of the mask and his goggles over the top, and even Tom although no one would believe the dreaded pirate was a boy of barely 15.

"Time to run!" the real Travers grabbed her arm and pulled her through the crowd, masked figures clearing their way. Noting her surprise, Travers explains, "You did not expect all your friends to attend your execution?"

There were horses waiting. Pausing only to cut her wrists free, Travers helped her up and they dug their heels in as the first charge in the square exploded – lots of flashy flames and sparks but no real damage. Rhys knew how to put on a show.

They charged through the streets until they reached their airship, The Vindicator. As soon as they were aboard, she took to the air.

"What about the others?" Anna had run to the deck to look back the way they had come.

"They have places to lie low, they'll meet up with us later. Are you all right?"

"Why did you come for me?" Anna reached up to remove his mask. "That was very dangerous."

"Why did you let yourself be captured in my stead?"

"Well obviously I assumed they would realise I was an imposter," Anna lied. "But your actions were very deliberate and reckless. You endangered everyone."

"You've always been by my side," Travers said simply. "You are, essentially, as much the notorious Captain Travers as I am. Everyone wanted to help. You may have been willing to die for our cause, but I wasn't willing to let you."

"It wasn't for the cause," Anna said.

Travers ducked his head. "Is that your way of saying you love me?"

"Is 'you are as much Captain Travers as I am' yours?"

"I staged a very elaborate rescue to save you, doesn't that mean more than words?"

"Perhaps. But I know a way that's a little more concise."

And so it was there, on the deck of The Vindicator, the wind tugging at their clothes, that the real Captain Travers and the woman who would die for him shared their first kiss. Their love would become as legendary as the scourge of the sky's reputation.

Hello, relative newcomer to steampunk here. I don't quite know what first drew me in – it crept up on me. I love the idea of grand adventures with one's own ingenuity to win the day – beautiful outfits, amazing airships and all with the class of a bygone age. This is my first completed steampunk story...

Submerged

Empress Annde

On this day, it was the feeling more than the distant sounds that woke me. Vibrations filtered down to my rocky den and I knew the one I loved had returned. I hesitated to rise from my home, fear filling my frightening body, an irony I did not miss. Today, I assured myself, would be the day of triumph. Today I would return not in solitude, but with that which I desired more than I could contain.

I rose up slowly, watching the rays of the sun glint pale gold through the deepest blue. Sounds were easier now and I heard the undulating roar that had first caught my attention nearly a season ago. When I finally surfaced, I lay back and turned one of my large eyes towards her, admiring that which I constantly admired, desiring it all the more for its distance.

The ship's bottom was not unlike many I had seen, and many I had destroyed with malice: the brown of dying seaweed angled to a spine that bit through the surface of the water. Jets of bubble chopped by quickly spinning fins propelled it forward to the places where sand reached up and over the sea. But above the simple underside were flashes of gilded scales, giant scales that outshone the rays of the sun. The scales coated towering vents reaching up and breathing out plumes. Where other ships would have large white triangles, curved and dainty, this ship spit steam into the sky as it coursed across the ocean.

My love did not long touch the water, though. A great sphere, rivaling the sun for space in the sky, elongated at the bottom, hung above and guided the ship up and away from the water's surface. One of the cylinders of brilliant glint spit clouds into the stretched orb, expanding its fire coral- and starfish-dyed stripes with each puff. I had seen some of these before, many round as this one, others, like long fat fish with squat tail fins, but none that carried more than small structures below them. And none that came close enough to touch my home with their bellies.

Today I knew I could reach out my great, long arms and touch that which I desired. I stretched myself out, my suckers pulsing with anticipation.

When I had first seen her, she had been slipping along the surface like any other ship. I had considered destroying her. It was natural to try to grasp with my two longest tentacles and then cover the ship in my eight arms. But just as I had reached the boundary between sea and sky, the ship's roaring increased, and slowly its spine rose and rose, out of the water and into the air. I watched, confused and somehow elated. The big balloon filled taught with steam and the ship shrank away into the sky, joining the others that stayed so far from my reach.

I would often catch her just as she lifted off, teasing me, showing off her colored stripes and shining scales. But this time I was faster, or perhaps she was ready for me.

A new sound arose. Sharp and chirpy, I had heard it before on the inferior vessels. The small erect creatures that rode on these beasts like shark-suckers had noticed my presence and scrambled. But this time they would not scare me away. The roaring grew and I knew my love longed for me as much as I did for her. She cried out for me. And I cried out too as my first tentacle slipped itself along her center and began pulling her down to meet me.

The small creatures struggled, but I did not feel the sting of their spikes. They quickly lost their fight as I gently pulled my love down into my native waters. Her roaring ceased. Instead she gurgled in delight as water replaced the clouds in her crowning sphere.

Under water, her scales caught the diffuse light and heavy darkness. Fish fled from her as they did from me. She was frightful. She was large. She was perfect. And now, at long last, she was mine.

I came into the world of Steampunk as a creator of jewelry and still make and vend at conventions. I now also find the aesthetic slipping into my writing which I enjoy very much to play with in non-traditional ways.

Nuts and Bolts of the Heart

GoldfishGal

It was high noon, and Arnold Cirattus had finally landed his battered skyship at the repair shop. Well, maybe 'landed' was a strong term. 'Crashed' might be better. The sleek craft was badly damaged, the result of not watching for sky-whales. And he had bought the skyship just last week!

It was really quite upsetting.

Arnold stood by the repair dock, wiping his fashionable glasses on his coat and tapping his boot impatiently. The mechanic was late. If there was one thing Arnold could not abide, it was tardiness. He adjusted his top hat where it sat on top of his brown curls, and huffed irritably.

He was about to return to the head office and complain when _she_ appeared.

A goddess in oil-soaked coveralls.

She came through the bay gate, adjusting the cloth over her hair and waving a wrench distractedly.

"Sorry I'm late, Bay 19 turned out to be a cracked fuel pump and not an injector problem, I am going to _kill_ Jones..."

She trailed off as she noticed Arnold's blatant stare.

"...This is your ship, right?" She asked, somewhat wary of his attention.

"Glah," Arnold provided helpfully.

"Riiight." Said the mechanic. "Well, yeh've managed to bash your ship up pretty good, but I think we can have her fixed soon..."

Belatedly, Arnold noticed a nametag on her filthy coveralls. It read "Evi Lamorrin".

The goddess had a name. A name that sounded as beautiful as the heavenly chorus itself...

Wasting no time, Evi began to remove the engine casing. "...Ya don't have to stick around, ya know, this is gonna take a while." She told Arnold, wiping at her brow with a grimy hand.

"Right. Say, about what time do you think you'll be done today?" asked Arnold cheerfully.

"...'Bout 5:00, why?" Evi responded distractedly, elbow-deep in the engine.

"We'll go to a restaurant. My treat," declared Arnold.

She threw the wrench at him.

The next day, Arnold was back at the repair yard. Allegedly, it was to check on the progress of his ship, but the object of his gaze laid that to rest.

She was beautiful while she worked, his goddess. Several strands of her dark hair had escaped their covering and were dangling in her face. She brushed them aside and cursed quietly as she worked.

At long last, Evi looked up at him. "If yer gonna stare, ya might as well make yerself useful. Hand me that spanner." Obediently, Arnold picked up a tool and handed it over.

"That's a screwdriver, genius."

Oh.

This really wasn't going nearly as well as he had hoped.

The next day, Arnold returned yet again.

It just so happened that this was Valentines Day, and he rather conveniently found himself without a partner. Dressed to the nines, Arnold stepped into the repair yard. He _would_ invite the goddess out to lunch, and they _would_ have a good time.

He sauntered into the yard, looking for her, only to find Evi bent over the open lev-engine of his airship.

She was glaring at the device as if it had insulted her mother.

Plans forgotten, Arnold hurried over.

"Love, what's wrong?" he asked, a worried edge to his tone.

She shot him a look, but didn't throw the wrench this time.

"Ah, the third piston's out of whack and I need another pair of hands to hold it steady while I work on it," Evi explained. "And all the other mechanics are off with their sweethearts today." She continued to glare at the engine as if this was all its fault.

"Ah," suggested Arnold, removing his jacket. "Perhaps I can be of assistance? I do have a pair of hands, after all."

He held them up for her inspection and wiggled his fingers, giving her a winning smile.

Evi responded with a flat stare.

"...Right. I suppose that'll have to do. C'mon over here, rich boy, and help me fix your ship."

Arnold gleefully dashed over and did as he was bid, putting his carefully manicured hands in the greasy engine without hesitation. She showed him where to hold, and worked around him. Eventually, he graduated to handing her tools when she wanted them, or swapping out her oil rags.

Arnold spent the entire afternoon working blissfully at her side. He hardly noticed how late it was until Evi stood, stretching her back and yawning.

"Right, I think that does it for today." She looked over at him, a speculative look in her eyes. "...Ya weren't half bad today, ya know." she said as she headed for the gate. She paused on the way out, sending a last look back at Arnold.

"Tell ya what, since ya worked your share today, we'll go out for dinner tonight. My treat."

Arnold couldn't remember ever feeling quite this happy before.

He chased after Evi with a huge, silly grin on his face. This was the best Valentine's Day ever.

GoldfishGal is an aspiring writer who was introduced to steampunk by her flamboyant sky-gypsy cousin and never looked back. She hopes to meet other writers and improve her skills, and making a costume also sounds super-nice.

Time Will Tell

Whitney Abriel

He loves her so, although he's cold,

and others would say that he's too old.

She loves him too, but not at will,

she is forced to feel the love she feels.

He praises her like the Petrin tower,

and uses her beauty for political power.

Her name is Victoria, her skin is fair,

her lips are rosy, with long flowing hair.

Her husband holds a seat in the Prague City Council,

a big, angry man named Arthur Townsel.

Victoria was born to a family of wealth,

and her marriage to Arthur was not one of stealth.

They walked in River town on the cobblestone road,

to the river town market, where fresh produce is sold.

The stench from the slaughter house engulfed the air;

it surrounded the vendors in the market's square.

Victoria was adorned by the finest corset dress,

and those who beheld her beauty were always impressed.

Arthur gathered with his friends from old town,

while Victoria continued to go shopping around.

Victoria's hand went to grab for a peach,

but a hand from beside her intersected her reach.

Victoria looked up, it was detective Vincent Chevalier.

He was known to solve any crime without fear.

And for a moment their eyes locked, people started to stare.

He felt his heart flutter, which for him was quite rare.

They both began to smile and then turned away,

worried about what the people around them might say.

Then suddenly, like lighting from out of the sky,

a steam powered carriage went flying quickly by.

A hideous man, with a monstrous face,

snatched up Victoria, which began a chase.

Five carriages followed behind them, but he knew where to go.

Flying far into the country to the basement of a ‪Château‬.‬

He had lost all five carriages miles and miles away,

and this is the place that they were stay.

He tied her up without a word;

she was shocked by all that just occurred.

"What do you want from me," Victoria began to shout.

"Don't worry my lady, you'll soon figure it out," said the man.

"I will save Victoria," said Vincent.

"You're not going alone,"

said Arthur. "I swear when I find him, I will break every bone."

They set off to search at the end of the town,

but the man and Victoria were nowhere to be found.

Back at the chateau, Victoria asks the man his name,

with his hands on his hips, "Valentinus!" he exclaimed.

"I am an inventor," He said with a voice loud and strong,

"But one of my experiments went horribly wrong.

I was to travel back in the past to a certain time and place,

but the machine had too much power and the steam blew in my face.

I asked your husband many times if there was money he could lend,

so I could fix my machine and try to experiment again.

"But why do you need to travel back into the past?" she asked.

"To see my loving wife before the day that she had passed." said Valentinus.

"That day my wife Ophelia was shot by a dangerous man,

if I can go back in time I can take the gun from his hand.

She's the only one in the world who loved me with all her heart

and that blood thirsty beast tore our love apart.

You are all the bait to get what I need,

when you husband pays to get you back I'll be able to succeed. "

Every letter sent by Valentinus, Arthur replied with a deny,

and wrote back to Valentinus that Valentinus was soon to die.

Vincent continued on with the search, not having any luck.

The lack of clues left behind had him dumbfound and stuck.

The days began to slip away, Victoria didn't mind.

Valentinus took care of her and turned out to be kind.

Valentinus came to the realization that he may never go back to his love,

And found that often on his mind, Victoria was who he thinks of.

The both decided to run away, not wanting to be found,

and as fate would have it between them both love grew deep and profound.

My name is Whitnee Abriel and I am 26 yrs. old. I love Fashion, Photography, Art, and Writing. I am currently taking courses for children's literature, was a part of "The Novelist" app competition, and am now perusing a career as a writer. I want to use my writing to help children to understand everyday issues and how to make it through them.

I love Steampunk because of its romanticism and fashion. It inspires me when I draw clothing designs and, now, to write stories.

The Thrush

S. L. Windsor

The tiny dancer twirled in a hypnotic dance, ceramic limbs frozen in _retiré devant._ To watch her was sweet torture, for she danced to the theme of brighter days- The _Love Story_ theme. It had been my wife's favorite song and the music box was my gift to her for Valentine's Day last year. Still, here I sat as the winter nights grew more oppressive, with no company save the tireless music box dancer now that _she_ had gone from my life.

The fire burned low, the room was full of smoke and shadows and the glass of absinthe in my hand grew lighter when a sound at the door interrupted my morbid reveries. I opened it to find a small bird, a thrush, dashed against my door by the wretched wind. I brought the poor thing in, held it to me near the fire and did what I could to restore life to it, but between my two hands it gasped and died.

Such a small end, but it weighed upon me cruelly. All the world seemed to echo of loss, and the tiny bird's life was but another measure on the scale that tipped toward my inescapable grief. I could not save her. As I sat in such tumultuous reflections, my eyes lit upon my tools and my workbench, long neglected. An idea took hold of my fevered brain, latched itself there, and began to feed. I should rebuild her, this lost little bird. Perhaps I had failed her when first she came to me, but if I could, I would make amends.

Invigorated by new purpose, I set all my skill toward this end. Night after night I worked, without rest, taking only what sustenance I required to keep moving. Sinew and bone are not so easily replaced. Life is even less so. December ebbed, January passed into a rain-sodden February.

Such was my obsession that the music box I once attended by the hour now sat silent for many days. I ransacked my house and possessions to find the proper parts for the bird, my mind hardly knowing what my hands were doing. Piece by piece I put the tiny false avian together, felt her taking form beneath my hands with wings of leather and inner things of gears and clocks and mechanical processes that I knew but could not identify the importance of.

As I created, a nameless unbidden horror began to grow within my breast. My hope had been that in restoring the bird to some semblance of life I could do the same for myself, but as she took form it only served to remind me of what I had lost, what was beyond my ability to restore, and what I could not rebuild. I began to loathe the mechanical bird as though she were some demon come to taunt me in my solitude. Yet I could not cease to build her, my hands fettered to the work by the madness in my mind.

At last the bird was complete, the last screw and spring in place. I held her in my hands, as I had the living bird some months hence, and the mounting dread filled me near to bursting. With a turn of a key the artificial wings unfurled, and the thrush flew to my mantle and there alighted- alighted atop a ruined music box that was shattered and strewn apart. I cried with an oath as the mechanical claws curled around the tiny dancer that I, in my ravings, had unknowingly tossed aside. The thrush, with a whirring of gear-work eyes and a demonic fluttering of her leathery wings began to sing-

Began to sing the cursed theme of _Love Story._

THE END

I love steampunk because it is, to me, the ultimate blend of elegance and fantasy; science fiction and human strength. Some of my biggest influences are H.P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, and Albert Samain. I am a costumer, writer, and avid reader.

I am also terrified of birds.

Nadia lifted the goggles...

Kit

Nadia lifted the goggles off of her eyes with a sigh, placing them on her head. Her target had escaped her once again. She had been hunting him ever since she had come across the bounty several weeks ago. The only description of her target, Lev Vladimirovich, was the silver rose tattooed onto the side of his neck and the explicit warning of extreme hazard. It was as if no one could ever get close enough to learn more.

Nadia rubbed her eyes before replacing the goggles and jumped off of the high ledge, falling into the steam that was rising from the power plant below her. With a flick of her wrist a grappling hook shot out of a gauntlet, gears wiring as it latched onto the opposite ledge, pulling her towards it as whistling resounded to her left. There was nothing to see but light carving a path back and forth over the dense mist. Nadia looked around for the source as a deep voice called out to her.

"Why don't we stop this game of cat and mouse? You bore me; I thought that a highly skilled bounty hunter like yourself would be more fun to chase."

Nadia slid the gun from its holster and switched out the ammo. "And here I thought I was the one hunting you."

A loud clank resounded off to her right. "Sweetie, you have a lot to learn if you think the person giving chase is the one who is chasing."

Nadia scanned the area watching as shadows darted through the light. Blue eyes penetrated up to her in a rather challenging and mocking way. Nadia leveled the gun at her target at the exact moment it was shot out of her hands and a grappling hook struck the railing next to her. She picked up her gun as Lev climbed over the rail and stepped arrogantly out of the mist; for the first time she could see him clearly.

A long ebony coat appeared over a silver vest. He had tan skin that offset his blue eyes and his hair, the color of night, was perfectly in place as if he was merely relaxing at home. She lifted her gun towards him as he lifted a finger and wagged it, "tsk"-ing.

"You still think you can win? I have you cornered." He swept his hand inside his coat and pulled out a small metal box with a singular button on the top. He pressed it as Nadia looked from the device to his face. The sight of his strong jaw and alabaster gaze captivated her. Nadia's gun sparked, giving off a small puff of grey smoke, pulling her back to reality. She threw it down in frustration and embarrassment as Lev stepped forward and pushed her against the wall.

He leaned in close, sliding past her face to whisper into her ear. "You need to try harder Nadia. How long have you been chasing me? Consider this my Valentine's gift to you: your life." He slid a strand of her disheveled red hair out of her face and behind her ear, lightly trailing his finger over her blushing cheeks. Briskly, he turned and jumped off of the ledge, turning in the air so she could see him smirking. Nadia, with a mix of embarrassment and fury, vowed to herself that she would spend her whole life, if necessary, to capture him. She would succeed; if only to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face.

Written by Kit, a LARPer and dreamer. I have not been into Steampunk long, but a lot of my fellow LARPers are obsessed with it so I have been learning from them and slowly becoming just as obsessed as they are. I don't know if it is the classy corsets and gadgets and gears, the different colors and alternate worlds, but what I do know is that there is nothing in the world that is like it. It is this uniqueness that draws me.

Clockwork Heartache

Glenn R. Shambach

Thomas Daniel Hayes the Third was a mad scientist. Furious in fact. He was entering the third month of his year long house arrest and was becoming quite melodramatic. This particular punishment, there had been similar punishments in the past, was for attempting to demolish the Engineering Building at Wyatt University with a giant clockwork mantis when he was rejected for a date yet again by a member of the faculty. The year before last he was given a three month suspension for attempting to dispose of a romantic rival with a massive steam-powered squid. Melodramatic was somewhat par for the course.

Thomas sighed as he tightened the bolts on his newest creation, remembering the suggestion from his assistant Gregory to learn to let things go. He rolled out from under his giant new machine to look at it with a certain level of confidence. "It's sure to work...I mean it has to..." he muttered to himself as he glanced up and down the machine. There was a sound at the door of the laboratory and in walked Gregory, carrying a tray with what looked like a warm meal.

"Doctor Hayes," he stated very matter of fact, "I know you are in one of your manic states where you must finish your new invention immediately but you haven't eaten or slept in three days. " Thomas looked up from his invention, rolled his eyes, "Fine. Fine. I'll eat."

Thomas shoved some of the blueprints for several different designs to the floor and Gregory placed the tray on the now clear desk. "What are we having?" said Thomas, peering disdainfully at the meal presented to him. "Grilled cheese with bacon and a spinach salad with artichoke hearts. Your favorite." Thomas sat at the desk and grumbled, "Fine. I suppose it's not terrible." He took a few bites of salad and pushed the tray away like a child. "What are you building anyway Doctor?"

Thomas looked up to the massive machine, "I'm tired of playing along with the games of the fates and cupid and other such silly ideas, I'm ready to go find love rather than bumbling along. This machine is designed to tell me the date and time that I will meet someone who will truly love me for me."

"That seems fairly impossible Doctor..."

"Not entirely impossible. Just moderately difficult. Just wait, it's sure to work and then our dreary little manor will be bright with love and light."

"Always such a romantic Doctor." said Gregory as he smiled ever so slightly.

"Of course." said Thomas, pulling the tray closer to himself again and eating a bit of sandwich.

"Now Doctor Hayes, I must do some work in the gardens, so I'll be back shortly. Please be sure to eat as much as you can, and I would prefer it if you choose to get some sleep." Gregory bowed politely and gently closed the door as he left. Thomas slowly finished his meal, scoffing slightly at Gregory's elegant plating. The tray even had a small vase with a single iris. It was so unnecessarily elaborate, and reflected the assistant so well. Thomas finished eating, leaving only the crusts which he hated, and got back to work.

* * *

The last few touches seemed to flow through Thomas's fingers, in a mere two hours the machine was finished. Thomas shakily took his key and placed it inside the keyhole and ever so slowly began to wind the machine's mechanisms. This was it, he was finally going to find a love who could truly love him. Each click brought further anticipation. The numbers that represented date and time began to spin as the machine roared into life, spewing noise and steam. Thomas watched as the numbers whirled around and around, the machine calculating and processing. He shut his eyes to brace himself and heard the numerals lock into place. A bell rang, signaling that it had finished. He opened his eyes and his heart sunk in his chest.

The display read, "00/00/0000 00:00". A complete null response. Thomas ran his hand through his hair and tugged, "What the hell does THAT mean!" He took off his glasses and threw them at the machine. He angrily threw all the papers and the tray on his desk to the floor. He had a sudden realization of what the numbers could mean. He grabbed at his temples and put his weight on the desk with his dominant hand. "Do you mean to tell me that I'll never meet anyone who will love me?" He turned to face his creation, tears starting to well up in his face, "Do you mean to tell me you god awful contraption that I'm destined to live alone in this dusty manor for the rest of my days, unloved and alone?" He beat his fist against the machine, every fiber in his being regretting his curiosity. After hitting the machine so many times his fingers ached, he sat in his chair, collapsed over his desk, and wept until he fell asleep.

Gregory, who had been listening at the door, came in when he was sure that Thomas was asleep. He smiled slightly as he gazed at his employer and slowly cleaned up the laboratory. After he finished cleaning, he picked up Thomas and carried him to the master bedroom. He gently placed the Doctor in his bed and threw a soft blanket over him. Gregory placed the iris from the tray and Thomas's glasses on the nightstand and sighed. He bent over and placed the smallest and gentlest of kisses on the Doctor's forehead. "Goodnight Tom, my dear." he said warmly. He then as he always did, silently left the room. He stopped as he closed the door to take one last look at the sleeping mad scientist he loved so much. "I'll tell him my feelings in the morning." Gregory said to himself, "For now, I'll just be glad he's getting some sleep."

Hi, I'm Glenn, I've been working with steampunk for a few years now and love the ability to cross a lot of different genres and styles and love to develop new characters that I can dress up as!

Valentine's Day

Jaime

Clarisa lit the candle of the incense burner and the scent of warm cinnamon began to suffuse the cool air of the shop. Rays of the orange and red setting sun streamed through the glass windows, highlighting her chestnut hair with their brilliance. She sighed, closing her mint green eyes with satisfaction as slowly, the light of day gave way to the deeper shades of purple twilight. The brass bell hanging above the shop entrance broke the silence, indicating the arrival of a customer.

He strode in, confidently taking in the colorful bottles lining the many shelves throughout the store, the library of warm worn books hiding behind the counter, the small table against the far wall and its two chairs, all of which sat on what seemed a patchwork of rugs covering the floor.

The man wore a black top-hat with a silver sash tied around its base, which even though now indoors, he did not take off. The hat did little to restrain the wildly curly black hair that was long enough to cover his shoulders. His shirt was white and fitted, over which he wore an open silver vest. He had on black leather pants and boots which were outfitted with spurs. He had on a large silver watch which whirred loudly and leather gloves. He was carrying a large satchel.

Clarisa asked the man, "Vot kan I due for jue?"

He looked at the floor and sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Apparently nothing." He set the satchel down and bent over it to begin opening the intricate lock securing it closed. "I've no use for phonies."

Clarisa jerked back at the immediate rebuke. "Vot due jue mean?" she asked with surprise.

He looked up at her. She was struck by the warmth emanating from those brown eyes. "I'm looking for someone to help me contact a lost love. She was everything to me. I didn't realize it until she died though. I need a real medium, not a liar and a cheat."

Clarisa blew out a breath, "Fine, but just because the packaging is fake doesn't mean the product is bad. I can talk to the dead but most people like to get the whole package, ambiance and all." She paused and studied him for a beat. "Who are you anyway?"

His eyes narrowed. He stopped fiddling with the satchel's lock and stood up. "You may call me Valentine."

She studied Valentine for a second more then looked off a little to his left.

"Dana."

At the pronunciation of the name he lost all animation except for the widening of his eyes.

She frowned as if she had a headache. "She's very agitated." Her eyes closed. "She's almost seems scared." When she opened her eyes Valentine was inches away from her. She tried to step back in surprise but he grabbed her upper arms tightly.

"What does she look like?" He asked her urgently.

"Let go of me!" she yelled, trying to shake him loose.

He shook her and roared, "What does she look like?!"

"Red hair in a loose bun, green eyes, thin, what do you want?" she screamed.

His right hand let go only to punch her hard on her left eye. She went down like a sack of potatoes. Valentine rocked back on his heels, sighing hugely in relief. "Finally someone who can really get to you for me." He turned and opened his satchel. He pulled out iron handcuffs that were uniquely designed to squeeze tighter and tighter the more the wearer struggled. He also pulled out the mask he'd made to keep its wearer sedated. It allowed him to adjust the dosage to make his captive more pliant or aware as he pleased. "I let you get away from me before but you're never getting away from me again." He growled.

Arms wrapped around him, crushing his ribs and stealing his breath. Valentine was thrown against the back wall. Stunned he tried to breathe and looked up. The shopkeeper casually picked him up by the neck and threw him into the dark recesses of the store's back rooms. Her chestnut hair, now streaked with grey, hung limply atop her skull. Green eyes now clouded over and milky still seemed to see with perfect clarity in the darkness. Worn brown and blackened teeth smiled at him. "I really am communicating with Dana ya know. She actually was in love with you once, you prick. Fortunately for her, you killed her and cured her of it. She wants me to take my time eating you. That works for me. I like my meals fresh. You should be glad Valentine. This day's all about you."

I'm big into horror and urban fantasy. I've only just been introduced to the realm of steampunk. I live in Tucson, Arizona.

The edge of the world

Nikki De Backer

Somewhere near the edge of the world stood a small village. Nearly 40 houses covered in fog and steam in a cold and bar landscape. And in the strangest house of them al lived a weird creature, a robot with a beating heart and a working brain. He was given these by his creator a mad scientist an one of the last humans that had ever lived.

When the world grew colder and colder, the few humans that were still alive had to migrate. But they could not escape from god's cold heart, who finally succeeded in erasing humankind. Leaving behind one of their greatest inventions: robot's. Although humans were never given the time to perfect these creatures one man had almost succeeded in creating the perfect robot with real feelings. But the robot did not know what these feeling were, or what he should do with them in a world where no one had these feelings.

The robot learned soon that he could not share his feelings with other robot's as they simply didn't understand them. So the little one repaired an aircraft and started searching for someone who could explain these feelings to him. He had nearly seen the whole world and still couldn't find anybody who could help him, when he was about to give up he stumbled upon a weird object. Curiosity took over and he observed the with leather covered paper object. He dug in the little knowledge that was given him, and came to the understanding that the thing he had found was a book. He picked it up and started reading. Two lovers with a forbidden love tried to meet each other. They died and the two rival families buried their hatred for one another. When the robot had read the story his feelings took over and he started crying. He had made up his mind, he would gather beautiful love stories to learn more about this interesting emotions.

When he had created his own library made of thousand no million books he started reading. At first he was happy for he had found a way he could use his feelings. But after a thousand books he started questioning things. Why weren't there any creatures he could share these feeling with? Why did the other robots only do what they were programmed for? Did they not wish to learn about love? He started talking to the other robot's but again the machines did not answer at al. They hadn't learned to love. And even though the robot already knew that, he had never felt so lonely in his whole life.

He started to create his own love stories. It were the most gorgeous and sad love stories the world had ever known. But no one ever had the change to read them. And when the robots stopped moving, and everything came to an end. The only thing on the earth that proved there was once life and love were the beautiful stories that were left. And more particular the stories of a lonely robot, Who's only wish was to find someone he could love.

Hello my name is Nikki and I live in Belgium (so please don't mind my spelling). I'm 16 years old and I study art (painting, experimenting and other cool stuf). It's difficult to find people who know about steampunk in Belgium and so far I have only found one person who is just like me crazy about steampunk. This is the first time I wrote a story and I'm happy that it is a steampunk one. I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading my story

Slowly her vision swims...

Tessa

Slowly her vision swims as her captor and his lab comes into terrifying focus. The woman discovers she can no longer move her arms and a sound of horror escapes her mouth as she struggles against her unwilling limbs.

The man turns, "Ah, you're awake. This time I've disconnected the control of your limbs, just long enough for us to have a conversation, then if you want to run you are more than welcome to. First however I would like to install your heart."

He presents a small device that ticks slowly back and forth.

"It's a perpetual motion gyroscope, it should help regulate your power surges, and should get rid of that balance problem you seem to have."

As his hand moves towards her chest with a scalpel and she screams causing him to fall backwards out of surprise, the gyroscope flies from his hand before he cushions it from the stone ground with his palm.

"Please let me go, I'll do anything just please don't kill me."

The man slowly stands, sighs painfully before eventually beginning to talk in a depressed manner. "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm pretty sure you were not even going to feel what I was about to do. But you clearly have no memory at all, so I shall have to give you one. I am Edward Ker Duke of Roxburgh, and I found you. Your creator was an unlicensed scientist who seems to have been obsessed with creating a companion; however he seemed to be unable to complete the task. My men and I were raiding his laboratory, when we found you; you were in pieces with hundreds of pages of notes surrounding the area. So I took you to my laboratory and I attempted to complete the task. However, I am not good with people and so I have not thought to deal with your trauma."

Her eyes change from pure horror to deep sadness, and at last she speaks with a voice hoarse from screaming, "Do I have a family?"

"You seem to be made from quite a few girls, and so in some senses yes, but in practical thinking no. It was dreadful what your creator did, and possibly what I have now done. I could not be sure of whether or not you were mentally aware when we found you. In theory you could have been, and so fearing that you were aware and imprisoned I tried to set you free. Possibly I should have left you there to never know the world at all."

"I remember a clear fluid seeping from my leg, and I remember my arm bending these thick steel restraints. But that cannot be a real memory.

The man is surprised and relieved at her calm manner and so answers in kind, "The clear fluid is kerosene, it is what you run on since your body can no longer use a conventional power source. You had a split line at one point and were leaking, I've fixed that already. You did damage some of my steel restraints, you were able to because of a power surge; you have a strong metal skeleton and a strong power source to carry it all. The perpetual motion machine will allow small amounts of power out, versus a never ending stream which would allow you great strength but would also eventually destroy the more delicate parts of you."

"You can fix that, with that contraption?"

"Yes, well I believe it will work. It might need adjustments, but none should be overly invasive. You will probably feel better after I have put it in, may I?

Girl soberly nods, and the Duke using his scalpel undoes a long row of stitching across her chest. She is surprised how little she feels it and how quickly it is over. Once stitched back up the Duke asks her to rise from the board she's been lying on, gingerly she swings her legs over feeling initially very dizzy from the new position. As the dizziness subsides she stands, the Duke offers her an arm to allow her to lean on him. They promenade across his lab at first she has a deal of energy and leans on the Duke very little, but eventually she leans more and more. Due to her weight eventually the Duke has to start leaning on his equipment. At first it is copper piping and things of strength, but slowly they near his delicate clockwork machinery and his face pains. He quickly produces a chair and sits her on it before they reach his gas lamps.

"If you would like, I can arrange to have a bag full of clothes packed and a car to take you wherever you would like to go. I am not your keeper; I simply would like to do the right thing."

"Sir, I do not know kindness other than yours and so I would like to impose upon it further and ask you to allow me to stay with you in your castle. I also would like to point out, that you are the only man that I will ever trust with my heart."

Hi, I'm Tessa and mostly what I like about steampunk is the concept of taking old world technology and taking it to nth degree.

Watchworks and Roses

Elia Winters

Just inside the door of Rutledge's Fine Crafts and Handiworks, Astrid inhaled deeply and briefly closed her eyes. The air was rich leather and polished brass, warm and faintly metallic, punctuated by the steady ticking of pocket-watches and grandfather clocks. She traced her fingertips against the velvet tablecloth beside her even as she glanced around the shop for Eli.

He leaned over the counter, his attention focused entirely on the clockwork gears in front of him, dark curls falling over his forehead. Her gaze skimmed over his broad shoulders and lean hips framed by the sleek cut of his pinstriped coat, her fingers itching to trace each of those stripes down his back. As Astrid slowly approached the counter, she saw him fitting two small gears together on some small object she couldn't identify, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in a way that made her own mouth go dry.

Finishing his task, he finally looked up. "Astrid." He sounded flustered, surprised. He glanced over her, and she couldn't read the expression on his face. Her usual confidence wavered and she felt acutely aware of her unique appearance. She liked the wildness of her short black hair, the brass accents on her corset, her knee-high buckled boots, but here in the city proper, she wondered what he thought of her.

She shouldn't care. Their relationship was purely business; he carried several of her inventions in his shop. They were from different worlds. She was born to revolutionaries and had grown into a renegade inventor and machinist. He was a respectable shopkeeper with a successful business. They would never be more than that.

His smile was warm but a bit tense as he set aside the small object he'd been working on and covered it with a cloth. Something private, then. That secrecy felt like one more wall between them.

"What brings you into the shop?" he asked. "Some new device for me?"

"No, not today." Astrid pulled an engraved silver watch out of her bag. "It's not winding properly. Would you mind taking a look?"

"It would be a pleasure." He examined the front and back. "This is beautiful."

"It was my father's."

While he unscrewed the facing, she wandered over to the table of her inventions, watching Eli work while trying not to appear like she was doing so. She loved watching the way he handled such delicate gears. When he had finished the watch, he looked up, catching her eye. She tried not to blush as he walked around the counter to her. What was it about his dark eyes? She felt his gaze like a touch.

"It should be fine, now." His hand lingered slightly on her palm. She closed her fingers around the cool silver and slipped it back into her bag.

"Thank you. How much...?"

He waved her off. "It wasn't a problem." His gaze was tense again, now, and he glanced back at the counter, at the cloth-covered object he'd been working on when she'd entered.

She took the hint and turned to leave. "Thank you, Eli. I'll... see you soon."

"Astrid, wait."

His hand on her arm made her stop and turn back to him, confused. He drew her toward him, slowly, close enough that she could smell the woodsy scent of his aftershave. He took the small item from beneath its cloth. "Astrid, I... I made this for you." He pressed a tiny clockwork rose into her palm.

She held it up, speechless, examining the rose made from tiny gears and curling bits of brass. Her heartbeat quickened, hand trembling slightly.

"If it's all right with you, I'd very much like to take you to dinner." His voice sounded hesitant. Astrid felt a flush of affection toward him that stole her breath.

She hoped her answer was clear as she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

Elia Winters is an author of saucy romance for sassy readers. An unapologetic geek, she enjoys many genres, but has a special place in her heart for steampunk. She lives in New England with her husband and an odd assortment of pets.

The following are excerpts...

Walter Pryce

The following are excerpts from a journal of a member of the pirate airship Nebelig Schande that literally fell into my lap one day. Reading the adventures of this man it is interesting the affect a pair of fine eyes had on this one man.

"... I never thought myself to be the one to rescue a damsel in distress, I'm a pirate, but today day in an instant when our ship came out of a cloud bank to attack the George Hampton, when by chance or destiny the ships collided... in a moment I saw her... when some rigging started to crash down toward her position I swung across and knocked her out of harm's way... getting up I felt the deck lurch, the George was going down, then my life changed forever I yelled to her over the sound of groaning metal and splitting timbers,' if you want to live come with me.' She nodded her head, without a thought I picked her up,... we barely made it back as the Nebe was pulling away and the George dissolved behind us."

"Wow, what a difference a day makes... today, that girl with the green eyes on the face of an angel..."

"... spent the last week in the brig for bringing Selena aboard.... we've got rules and I broke one big time when I brought Her back... but it was worth it. She's brought my grub everyday; I could have been in there a month and not have noticed the time..."

"... I thought she was glad that I rescued her from the George, but something tells me she didn't like it there, even with all its finery...."

"... Selena has changed since coming on board, she use to walk, talk and smell differently. She's still great to be around and it's not like she smells like the other mates, men or women, but when I first grabbed her as we swung back to the Nebe she reminded me of the scent of a field of flowers after a summer's rain."

"... I haven't gotten to talk with her she's been busy doing the ship's books. A skill she said her father taught her..."

"... I'm reading books so I have something to talk to Salena about; she is so smart, she helps explain things in a way I can understand. So I take every chance I can get to have her explain things..."

"...the ship's going to roost soon. Selena's been busy figuring out what we need for supplies and repairs and how to pay for it. Can't plunder all the time..."

"... today, Selena said I can 'escort' her when we roost as she picks up supplies and arranges for repairs...."

"...been saving my money to get something nice for Selena; A surprise, something she'll really like...."

".... Tomorrow is roosting day, I know the first couple of days will be busy 'escorting' Selena, I just love saying that word, 'escort' especially when her name follows it...."

"...when she didn't think I saw her, I noticed her eying a jade necklace in a shop. I just hope it's still there and I can find the shop in a couple days when I won't be 'escorting' Selena...."

"...Selena seems down today. I asked her, she said it was nothing.... I did get the necklace, I hope she likes it...."

"... Selena doesn't seem herself. Maybe like the rest of us she's anxious for Lifting Day. I hope so. Tomorrow after we take off is when I'll give her the necklace...."

"Wow! I feel my life is charmed, first seeing and rescuing Selena, something a pirate isn't known for, then after the Lifting Day celebration everyone was in a great mood. That is, everyone but my green eyed friend. I went over to her and she said she just felt blah. I told her that I had something for her that I hoped would cheer her up. I pulled out the small pouch from my pocket that held the necklace giving it to her while stuttering, 'I noticed you saw this when we were in town, thought you'd like it so I got it for you. I think the jade matches your eyes so well so I bought it for you, 'Happy Lifting day!' As she opened the pouch and dumped it into her palm I noticed a tear come down her cheek. I asked if she was okay with it and she replied softly, 'yes'. She then asked me to put it on her, I think I stood 3 inches taller. She asked how it looked, 'It was made for you.' She then leaped up to me wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing my cheek whispering in my ear; "This is the best Valentine's gift I've ever gotten. Thank you." I just smiled down at her. I will never forget how I felt at that moment or how that kiss felt on my face. I could have floated right off the deck. I didn't even know it was Valentine's Day...."

Walter first appeared at the 2012 Tesla Con. Before that I don't know where he's been. He is a romantic at heart. Science has always been an interest but sometimes life leads down different roads. This is my first post at writing a story. It was fun and I got so caught up in it I missed the part of the bio.

I enjoy the creativity and artistry of steampunk. It is a great world to have fun in.

Selece batted the dart away...

Scarlet

Selece batted the dart away with the copper and chrome that ornamented her lower sleeves.

"Damn and blast! Why do they always go after MY ship?"

Her deck was in chaos, as the crew tried to tie the safety ropes to their waists while simultaneously fighting off the pirates that attacked the merchant ship. She had already secured hers as she glanced over the railing for a moment and caught her breath. They weren't over the ocean anymore so anyone that fell off the blimp-like ship would plunge to their deaths. Gritting her teeth, steam powered weapon in hand, Selece took another shot, the clink of the steam container on her back blasting excess into the air with each pull of the trigger.

The opposing captain caught her eye and for a moment they were at a standstill. As he rushed her and slipped around her bullets, she realized her beloved pistol couldn't keep up. Knocking her gun away with a lift of his sword, he cut through the rope tying her to the ship and in the same motion pushed her back towards the railing.

'No!' She thought.

A shadow fell over the pair and their eyes were averted towards the source. The Captain's gaze was met with a well-aimed boot. A newcomer. Apparently another ship had joined the fray. This newcomer turned with a devilish grin. It was the pirate Alistar, King of the Skies.

"You miss me, love?" Said Alistar with feigned hopefulness.

Selece repressed an inward groan. "No, Alistar, and I'm not your love."

He winked roguishly at her.

"Sure you're not. I just like to rescue damsels in distress."

Alistar turned, his crew following his lead and fighting the other pirates off. Selece put her hand to her face in frustration.

"You could have died if you missed the ship!" She sighed with exasperation.

"But I wasn't going to miss! Especially with a beauty such as yourself there to grace my vision!"

She laughed at his boldness, the warmth of his back against hers raising the temperature around her and making her blush.

"Don't try to flatter me!"

They yelled to each other as they fought back to back, making quick work of the other crew. The last of them gone, Alistar turned once more to Selece, this time to find a gun in his face. She was somber, a touch of sorrow in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Alistar...but you're a criminal and it's my duty to bring–"

He stepped forward, sweeping her gun aside and placing a single finger to her lips. Her blush deepened at the contact.

"Smile, love. This isn't over."

He gave her a devil may care smile and jumped off the ship. Selece rushed forward, crying out.

"Al!"

He smiled up to her from the deck of his ship. Selece allowed a smile to touch her lips as his crew rejoined him.

"Should we give chase to the rascal, my lady?" Her first mate inquired.

Her gaze couldn't leave his built form, her thoughts were on other things.

"No, we have cargo to deliver."

The deckhand shook his head but his smile matched hers.

"Whatever you say, Queen."

Her smile widened at the use of her old nickname as she kept watching Alistar's ship retreat.

Written by Scarlet. The first thing that you should know about me is that I LARP. The second is that I LOVE Steampunk. I think the thing I like most about the Steampunk genre are the gears and metal. I'm like a bird in the sense that I love shiny things and I'm absolutely in love with the mix of Victorian style dress and copper or brass pieces. The Victorian era was filled with elegant dresses and tea parties and that's the type of thing I like to do on a day off; dress up, get some friends together, and brew some tea. In combination with the random metal accessories like buckles and chains, which are also a favorite for me to wear in my everyday clothing, steampunk is just something awesomely cool that I hope I can someday pull off.

Pouring over the newly acquired map...

Karen Collins

Pouring over the newly acquired map, Avery paused midway through the bite she was taking out of the strawberry, her brow furrowed. "Ian," she called over the hum of the engines. "Ian, come here, look at this."

Ian finished pouring his drink and came over to the table. "You found something?"

His nearness had always quickened her breathing, even when it was all about business. But she had long ago learned to enjoy the fire in her veins that he ignited, and no longer fought it. She paused a moment, and indicated the mountain ranges toward which they were heading. "I think we're about to. Look," she pointed to the official regional map.

"I don't see anything."

"Exactly," she pointed to the same place on their new map. "But look there."

"A settlement," he ran his hand through his hair and adopted the same furrowed expression she had a moment earlier. "How old is this map?"

"Doesn't matter. It's not supposed to be there. Either it's still there or it isn't, but either way, no one is supposed to find it," she grinned at him.

She was not expecting him to kiss her, and when his warm lips met hers she was very, very glad she had been nibbling on fruit and not pickles or... and then the desire consuming her brought rational thought to an end.

When they came up for air, his loose cravat had snagged on the top hook of her corset, and they laughed as they disentangled themselves, but there was no embarrassment. They both knew where this was going, and that was just fine with them.

He twined his hands around her back and they stood there, breathing each other in. The tension was at once comfortable and torturous. "Thank you for not giving up on me," he murmured.

She wanted to say, Same here, but her lips apparently had better things to do...

The hum of the engines continued toward adventure, toward discovery, and carried them along, full of hope, and inexorably entwined with each other.

Karen Collins, and my steampunk name is Miss Scarlet Kerrigan Rose Abernathy, L-space Librarian and occasional airship pirate. I'm a working mother and my husband and I are enjoying discovering steampunk together. I what I love most about it is the endless possibilities – than any, ANY kind of character can exist, and any kind of story. Also that you don't have to be a teenager to look good in steampunk style. It's full of great things for any age and personality.

First came Cappadocia...

Katharine Duckett

First came Cappadocia, where we floated for days, climbing down from our balloon to explore the caverns in thick leather goggles that kept the dust from our eyes. She'd hidden a clue here, she told me, and deep in a small, frescoed cave I found it: a charm in the shape of a lyre, hung on golden chain, with a thrice-folded note: "Like music, it rises from the throat." I begged her to tell me what it meant, as we went hand-over-hand up the rope, but she only laughed, saying, "Oh, but it wouldn't be any fun if I told you! We've got so far to go."

She flew us next to Ephesus. We anchored the balloon above the ancient library and spent the day picnicking among the ruins, gazing across the grassy fields with the brass binoculars she had built. Picking our way through the fallen pillars at the Temple of Artemis, I found, upon a stone, her second clue: a book, blank but richly adorned, with a cover of blue and green, like undulating waves. On the first cream-colored page, she had scrawled a single line: "Like a melody, it will carry you far." I pouted, perplexed: she kissed me and laughed again, her secret still safely submerged.

We arrived, finally, in Istanbul, where we ate and drank until morning, then spent the day combing bazaar stalls and junk shops, ducking into cool cafés to escape the sun. We climbed back into the balloon as the heat began to ease, and she anchored the balloon over the bridge crossing the Boğaz, the blue-green strait running through the heart of the city—I'd known once what its name meant, but had forgotten now.

I sat at the balloon's edge, my bare feet dangling over the Boğaz. "It looks so refreshing," I sighed.

"Care for a dip?" Her hands came to rest on my shoulders.

"Maybe, but where would I—oh!" The words were lost as she pushed me, in a single shove, out of the balloon and into the air.

My body tensed for the plunge, but no sooner had I begun to fall than I felt my dive arrested. I looked to my ankles and wrists, now raised high above me, and found at each corner my saviors: dozens of mechanical parakeets of stunning intricacy, and a strength their size belied.

I looked down to the waves of the Boğaz, and there saw her creation began to rise: first the slim smoke stacks, stately and steaming; then the calliope, glistening, gold-tipped; then the steel hull, shining orange in the light of the setting sun.

My flock set me down as the ship completed its ascent. I stepped upon the deck, marveling at the beauty of this beast, which seemed, with its puffs and ticks, a living thing.

She stole up behind me as I came to the helm, though I hadn't seen her come down from the balloon.

"I thought," she whispered, "that we could take the next leg by sea." Slipping an arm around my side, she pushed a brazen lever, and the ship started forward, towards the bridge and the sea beyond. "Happy Valentine's, my love. Welcome to the SS Erato."

The prize for this contest is an excellent example of why I love steampunk: it fuses together an imaginative take of technological invention, gorgeous aesthetics, and plenty of leather. What's not to love? As a writer and a frequent traveler, I chose to write a love story about traveling through Turkey, a land I love. (A hint for anyone deciphering the first "clue" in the story: "throat" in Turkish is "boğaz." Remember that!)

On That Day

Caleb Gillombardo

A pale dawn washed over the H.M.S. Valor. She cut through the clouds at full speed, leaving twin streams of smoke and ash in her wake. Once the pride of the Empire's fleet, the Valor had been butchered over the past week of hard flight. Decks, cabins, and walls had all fell prey to the axe and had been fed to the ship's powerful furnaces. The guns and ammunitions had all been thrown overboard to allow for additional lift and speed. She was running under maximum automization, with almost every piloting and control system being managed by internal mechanics. There was no crew aboard to operate the ship. The Valor carried but one man, and he stood at the helm.

Sir Edward Valentine, Captain of the Valor and Commander in Chief of the Empire's airship fleet gripped the wheel with cold hands. He had not left the helm, except to gut his ship and feed the engines. He had not slept. He had barely tended to his own needs. His chin and neck were covered in stubble. His uniform was in complete disarray. Behind him, the war raged on. The brave fighting men of the Empire clashed with the merciless automatons of Barron von Kaznof. Heavy losses took their toll on both sides of the Empire's Great Wall, but Valentine would not look back to consider the lives of his men. A cold fury had overtaken him, and nothing mattered but reaching his destination.

A week ago, news had come to the front along with their supplies. The Capitol was under siege form the Baron's naval forces. The Empire's defensive forces had been caught completely by surprise and were almost decimated. They had managed to get the city into lockdown before suffering civilian casualties, but they did not have the forces to mount a counter attack. Men at the front had immediately volunteered to return, but the City Fathers had ordered all soldiers to remain at their posts. When Valentine had learned of the attack, he immediately launched the Valor and headed home.

He now stared ahead as he pushed his ship to the breaking point. He had long-since ripped apart the windows of the bridge and fed them to the flames of the furnaces. Now, wind whipped through the bridge and scattered what few small items remained. His flight goggles were pressed tightly to his face and his unkempt hair streamed back. He clung to the passion and fury that had driven him to abandon his post without a second thought. He hoped against all his military knowledge and experience that he would get to the Capitol in time.

As the clouds parted, Valentine saw the Capitol stretch out before him. He saw the city's defenses were raised and active. He saw the Barron's forces surrounding the Capitol, raining down cannon fire. Grim determination crept across his face as he aimed the Valor town toward the automatons' primary control hub. He lifted one had from the wheel and rested it upon the small picture kept in a pocket over his heart.

Later, when the wreckage was cleared, Sir Edward Valentine's journal was located. The entry for that day, the fourteenth day of February, was only one word: Justine.

I am an independent author, working mostly in horror and urban fantasy. I am also an independent game designer. I enjoy working with Steampunk because it is an all-encompassing genre, allowing me to utilize themes from any literary niche. I am currently working on a Steampunk serialized novel, several comic scripts, and RPG.

February 14

Margaret Mae

"No sir, there haven't been any calls"

"Thank you, that's all." James waited while the restaurant flickered with low conversation. The chime in his engraved wrister pinged out another quarter hour with no new messages. He shifted in his chair and drew with the dots of condensation on his glass. With his left hand, he fumbled the little box in his pocket.

* * *

Tess pulled the lever and the navigator pit hissed open. "Here she is, the brain of Nemoidia. You're sure you'll be able to handle her?"

"Yep, I can take care of it."

Tess smiled and ruffled his hair, "Ok, Charlie, but if it's too much you gotta tell me." He elbowed her as close to her ribs as he could reach and bounded over to the foggy window. "I never worked with a machine so... er..." Tess interjected "so incredibly advanced, smooth running and above all else" (she kicked over an empty can of sardines) "tidy?"

"Well, I was gonna say old, but working for an old lady like YOU, I guess it makes sense" he laughed with a learned-since-childhood duck and run.

"Oh I'll get you! No little brother talks to me like that!" She chased him into the tunnel, away from the pit and disinterested fish outside.

"Charles Downing, I am not old! I'll get you!" She called out with a smile and chased him, clanging along behind his stomps.

Grabbing a shiny hatch lever and yanking it into place he called back "Ain't nobody can catch me, I'm growin' longer legs 'n you ever saw!"

Tess caught up to him laughing "Oh no I don't think..." and rounded the corner just in time to see him shove it open. The taunt vaporized in her throat. "Charles NO! Not in there!" Dim blue light spilled through the open hatch into the hall.

* * *

A woman in a long coat hurried in. James watched her eyes light up when they finally met his. He squeezed the little box in his pocket as she hurried gracefully to the seat across from him. "It's been a little while Tess, I'm really happy you were able to come."

The woman blushed, "I'm terribly sorry, I hate the thought of you waiting so long, really I do."

He smiled and took her hand across the table "Well, dear, I only wanted to ask you a very particular question this evening"

* * *

"Wha...?" Charlie's voice wobbled. Tess rested a still hand on his shoulder. His eyes were fixed in place like bolts on a massive tank of green-blue fluid and the figure of a man floating in it like a phantom puppet show.

"Charlie. You remember James, don't you?"

Tess knelt beside him on one knee and turned his shoulders to face her. "Charlie. Sometimes dangerous things happen to people. James is a good man, a very honest man. I'm not sure who it was, but someone wanted to keep him from being honest. So they poisoned him and made him sleep."

"Sleep, like a nap?" "No Charlie, he's very sick and it makes him sleep. He'd die outside the fluid."

"Why is he here? Is he why you ran away?"

"Charlie, if there was any other way I would have done it. I didn't want to leave home; I just knew that he wasn't going to die for being a good man. I couldn't let that happen. That's why I have Nemoidia now. I've been through half the scientific underworld looking for people who can help. There aren't many, but I'd like you to be one of them. I'll help you with anything you want to learn, teach you to sail and anything else you want. But I need your help; you're a good man too and I trust you. Can you help me?"

Charlie's eyes crept over to the man in the tank. "I... I'm not a man. But I'll help you. But I don't want to be in here. He scares me. You scare me. I... can I go?"

Tess swallowed hard. "Ok. Charlie. I'm sorry I scared you, really I am."

Charlie turned to go, and turned back halfway through the hatch. "Does... James dream in there?"

Still kneeling, Tess felt her face heat up. "I don't know Charlie. One of the doctors said that when folks go through things like this they go back to a happy memory and relive it over and over. I like to think that's true."

"But no one's really sure?"

"No, no one's sure."

Charlie turned to the tank. "I hope he is too."

* * *

"Oh yes, of course James! Yes, I will!" She nearly fell into his arms over the table. "You do know this means you'll have to put up with me from now on, that won't trouble you?" he chuckled, "Happy Valentine's Day, love."

* * *

Tess dusted off her breeches and listened to his boots walk away before turning back to the tank. She pressed her hand to the glass and checked the men's engraved wrister she wore. "February 14," she murmured. "Happy Valentine's, dear."

