SciFi and Steampunk – #FreeBook #SteamPunk #GiftCertificate

Image by Amy from Pixabay

In my post last Monday, I mentioned that I’ve been reticent to write much scifi myself, doubting my own ability to create fictional worlds that were sufficiently original, surprising, vivid and complex.

One exception, apparently, is steampunk. I’ve written a number of steampunk short stories as well as four novels: Rajasthani Moon, and the Toymakers Guild trilogy. I feel totally at home in an alternative Victorian world, and have no compunctions about pushing the technological as well as the social limits of that time.

But does steampunk qualify as science fiction? I suppose it depends on whom you ask.

In any case, to round out my Science Fiction Week, I’ve got an excerpt from a quite old steam punk story, set not in England but in Victorian-era Siam. If it catches your interest, you can download a free PDF version of Green Cheese from my website.

And one more reminder – leave me a comment with your email, and I’ll enter you into my drawing for a $10 bookstore gift certificate. Today is the last day!

 

"Oh, I do beg your pardon! Are you hurt? Please, allow me to assist you..."

Caroline Fortescue-Smythe scowled up from the ground where she sat in a crumpled heap of skirts and petticoats. The tropical glare behind him made it difficult for her to see his features. Nevertheless, despite his impeccable English, the man who had slammed into her was clearly Siamese. He extended his hand to help her to her feet. His other hand clutched some bulky contraption of leather and brass, embedded with lenses that glittered in sun.

"You should pay attention to where you are going," she grumbled, brushing the dust from her heavy clothing. Perspiration trickled down her spine and her stays dug into her ribs, adding to her foul mood. "I'm not injured, but I might easily have been. You were barreling along like a locomotive."

"I am so sorry," the young man repeated. "I was trying to capture images of the race." He pointed to the strange mechanism he carried. A cheer rose up from the crowd as some stallion or other crossed the finish line. "I was so focused on the horses, I didn't see you."

Caroline snapped open her parasol. In its welcome shade she felt fractionally cooler. "What is it?" Aside from the lenses, it did not look like any camera she'd ever seen.

"My latest invention," her companion replied, pride evident in his voice. "A moving picture recorder and player."

"Like the Lumières' projector?" The French ambassador had been boasting about this marvel of Gallic technology at some official function only last week.

"You are familiar with their work?" He favored her with such a warm smile that it melted a good deal of her annoyance. "My videographic device is similar in function, but much faster and more versatile. The same machine can both capture and display moving images. You see, here, I can show you the last race..." The stranger drew her closer and indicated an oval-shaped glass panel built into the side of the recorder. He pressed a button. Sleek equine shapes galloped across the glass surface, the motion so smooth and natural that Caroline was astonished.

"Of course, the images can also be projected externally, for public viewing," he continued. "I am working at the moment on the problems of color and sound."

The enthusiasm in the young man's voice banished the last of Caroline's anger. Like so many of the Siamese, he had a buoyant charm that tended to dispel negative reactions.

He stood far closer to her than would be normally be proper, his bare hand clutching her gloved one. When she took a shallow breath (the only sort permitted by her corset), she caught a hints of cloves and jasmine. The scent, in combination with the pitiless sun, made her briefly dizzy.

She examined him more closely. Although he was dressed in Siamese costume, silk pantaloons and a form-fitting white jacket with brass buttons, he wore his coal-black hair cut in Western style rather than bound into a top-knot. His complexion was the color of antique ivory. Behind his wire-rimmed spectacles, his eyes were like pools of melted chocolate. His beardless features looked boyish but his broad shoulders and narrow waist suggested he was at least as old as her own twenty three years.

"Quite impressive," she said, finally. "My father will be interested to hear about this."

"Your father? Oh dear, please forgive me once more. I get so involved with my little projects that I completely forget my manners."

He drew himself up to his full height, a few inches taller than Caroline's petite stature.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ruangkornpongpipat Suriyarasamee. Please, don't even try to pronounce it! My friends call me 'Pete'." He squeezed her hand and gazed boldly into her eyes. "I hope that I shall be able to count you among them."

Caroline felt hot blood climb into her cheeks. "Suriyarasamee – I've heard that name, I think."

"My father is one of the wealthiest merchants in Bangkok – quite fortunately for me, since he has ample resources to support my investigations. I am surprised that a foreigner would be aware of him, though. Who are you, if I might ask?"

"Caroline Fortescue-Smythe, at your service," she replied, still embarrassed by her earlier rudeness. "The daughter of Thomas Fortescue-Smythe, Her Majesty Queen Victoria's ambassador to Siam."

"Ah, that explains it. My father frequently attends diplomatic parties. You may even have met him." He released her, reluctantly it seemed. "Well, Miss Caroline - I do hope you will allow me to use your given name according to our custom, since Fortescue-Smythe is almost as much of a mouthful as my own moniker – I am truly delighted to meet you. And I apologize most sincerely for my clumsiness."

"There was no harm done." Caroline realized that she was still blushing. Meanwhile, her heart danced a hornpipe under her tight bodice. "I – um – I should get back to our box. My father will be concerned. Please excuse me..."

"Wait!" He snagged her hand once more and heat shimmered through her. "Do not go yet."

"I must. I'm sorry..."

"It's such a pleasure to converse with you. It's not often I meet a woman, Siamese or European, with any interest in technology. Look, are you engaged this evening?"

"Tonight?"

"I've arranged a little performance at my house, for some of my friends. Another one of my creations. I'd love for you to come see it. With your father, of course..."

"Well ..."

"I'll send an invitation with the details to the ambassadorial residence this afternoon. I hope I will see you this evening. Until then, Miss Caroline." Pete raised her hand to his lips as though to kiss it, but appeared confused by her glove. Finally, he turned her hand palm up and pressed his lips against her bare wrist. He lingered there for an endless moment. The wet tip of his tongue flicked across her pulse point. Electricity arced up her spine.

He smiled into her eyes, nodded, and moved on, pointing his recording device once again at the horses thundering down the track. The strip of naked skin between her glove and her sleeve tingled long after he'd disappeared into the crowd. It was several minutes before she recovered.

Don’t forget to leave a comment! I hope you’ve had as much fun this week as I have!