Chapter 9: Gearheads and gizmos
The humid air of the Clockwork District clung to Logan’s skin like a damp, oily film. He inhaled deeply, tasting metal and ozone on his tongue, with an undercurrent of… was that burnt toast? Above him, gears the size of houses ground against each other, their shadows dancing across the cobblestone streets.
” I say, the vest does your physique quite the favor, Logan. If anything could. “
Logan tugged at his collar, grimacing as the stiff fabric chafed against his neck. Evangeline’s insistence on “proper attire” had seemed ridiculous the other morning, but now, surrounded by the eclectic fashion of Kronos, he felt almost underdressed. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms still mottled with fading bruises – souvenirs from his tumultuous arrival .
“I swear, Roscoe,” Logan muttered,ignoring the smart aleck eyeing a familiar fountain for what felt like the tenth time, “if we pass that same damn water-spitter again, I’m gonna lose it.”
Roscoe’s ears perked up, his tail giving a single wag. “Perhaps, my dear Logan, it’s not we who are passing the fountain, but the fountain passing us.” The dog’s crisp British accent still made Logan’s head spin. “This city does seem to have a rather… fluid relationship with spatial consistency.” He charged at a rolling ball Lost by some nearby children, pushing it back to them.
Logan shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Right. Because that makes perfect sense.” He paused, considering. “Actually, in this place, it kind of does. Come on, boy. Let’s try to find a main street or something. Assuming those even exist here.”
They turned down an alley, hoping it might lead somewhere less bewildering. The walls here were lined with bizarre contraptions – clocks that ran backwards, miniature fountains that flowed upwards, and what looked suspiciously like a birdcage housing a tiny thunderstorm. Logan’s fingers trailed along the rough brick wall, and he jerked his hand back, startled by an unexpected vibration thrumming beneath the stone.
As they walked, Logan’s mind wandered back to breakfast at Evangeline’s shop. The food had tasted like… well, he still couldn’t quite describe it. Nostalgia and anticipation rolled into one, with a side of déjà vu. And the way Evangeline had looked at him, like she knew something he didn’t… it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“Logan,” Roscoe’s voice cut through his reverie, “I believe we may have stumbled upon something rather interesting.”
The alley opened suddenly into a bustling square, the change so abrupt it left Logan blinking. A crowd had gathered, their excited chatter punctuated by gasps and cheers. The air hummed with energy, making the hair on Logan’s arms stand on end. The cacophony hit him like a physical force – the clang of hammers on metal, the hiss of escaping steam, the excited babble of a hundred voices.
“What do you think?” Logan asked, curiosity overriding his earlier caution. “Should we check it out?”
Roscoe’s tail wagged slightly. “I dare say we should. When in Kronos, do as the Kronians do, and all that.”
They pushed their way through the throng, Logan muttering apologies as he bumped into people – and a few things he wasn’t entirely sure were people. As they moved closer to the center of the commotion, Logan overheard snippets of conversation from the crowd around him.
“…heard they’re trying to jump-start a paradox engine,” a gruff voice said nearby.
“A paradox engine?” replied another, sounding skeptical. “how can you power something with temporal contradictions?”
“That’s the beauty of it,” the first voice explained. “It harnesses the energy created by conflicting timelines. The more impossible the paradox, the more power it generates. It’s like… trying to divide by zero, but instead of breaking math, you get unlimited energy.”
Logan’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced at Roscoe, who looked equally intrigued. They pressed forward, eager to see this impossible machine for themselves.
Finally, they broke through to the front of the crowd, and Logan’s jaw dropped. In the center of the square stood a contraption that defied description, a machine that looked like it had been designed by a committee of mad scientists and fueled by pure imagination. It was easily the size of a small house, a chaotic amalgamation of gears, pipes, and crackling energy fields that hurt Logan’s eyes to look at directly.
Parts of the machine seemed to fade in and out of existence, while others moved in ways that violated every law of physics Logan had ever learned. Gears the size of wagon wheels spun with dizzying speed, their teeth meshing with impossible precision. Pipes that seemed to defy gravity twisted and turned, spewing jets of steam.
And at the heart of it all, a core of swirling energy pulsed with a light that shifted from blinding white to deep indigo and back again, its rhythm echoing the erratic beating of Logan’s own heart. He could feel the power emanating from the machine, a tangible force that made his skin prickle and his thoughts scatter.
At the base of this mechanical monstrosity stood a woman with hair as blue as an electrical arc. She had her arms plunged elbow-deep into an open panel, a look of intense concentration etched on her face. Sweat glistened on her brow, mixing with streaks of grease and some other slick, Iridescent fluid.
“Dynamo!” she shouted, not looking up from her work. Her voice carried over the din of the crowd and the constant hum of the machine. “I need more juice to the core, or this whole thing’s gonna blow sky-high!”
A lanky female figure to her left —Dynamo, Logan presumed – yanked on a lever that looked like it had been salvaged from the control room of a steampunk submarine. The action sent a cascade of sparks across the contraption, arcs of energy that danced and twisted in ways electricity had no right to move.
The blue-haired woman yelped, jerking her hand back from the open panel. She shook her singed fingers, a string of colorful curses flowing from her lips that made even the hardened crowd around Logan blush.
“Rust it all, Dynamo!” she bellowed, her voice a mix of frustration and barely contained excitement. “I said juice, not lightning!” She paused, examining her hand for damage before turning her glare back to her assistant. “And for flux sake, be more careful! Next time I’ll have Sparkplug rig a shock to that lever of yours. See how you like being on the receiving end of a discharge!”
Logan’s eyes widened at the casual mention of forces that, in his world, existed only in the realms of science fiction. Here, it seemed, bending time was just another day at the office – a dangerous, potentially reality-ending office, but an office nonetheless.
Next to the blue-haired woman, a burly man with more metal than flesh showing worked furiously on a panel of blinking lights. His movements were surprisingly precise despite his size, each motion calculated and efficient. He seemed to anticipate the blue-haired woman’s needs before she voiced them, his hands flying over controls that looked more like abstract art than functional machinery.
Logan studied the man, fascinated by the seamless blend of human and machine. One of his eyes glistened with an excited light, scanning the paradox engine with methodical intensity. The other was a complex assembly of gears, lenses, and wires that whirred softly as it moved, tracking the flow of energy through the machine’s intricate network of conduits.
It was the man’s right arm that truly caught Logan’s attention. It was a masterpiece of clockwork engineering – a seamless blend of polished brass, gleaming silver, and intricate gears that moved with a mesmerizing fluidity. Each joint was a work of art, pistons and cogs working to replicate – and perhaps improve - human movement.
“Rusty,” the blue-haired woman called out, her voice cutting through Logan’s observations. “We need that dampener calibrated now, or we’ll have another slip on our hands!”
“On it, boss,” the man – Rusty – grunted in response. His fingers, both flesh and metal, flew over the controls with a speed and precision that seemed almost superhuman.
Suddenly, a petite figure darted between Rusty’s legs, moving with a speed that left afterimages in its wake. It was hard to focus on, seeming to shift and blur as if it moved Logan squinted, trying to make out details.
“Sparkplug!” Rusty bellowed, his voice a mix of exasperation and fondness. “Get your chronal-jumping hide back here, you scrapheap gremlin!”
The blur resolved Itself into a young woman with wild hair full of metal bits. Her movements were quick and erratic, like a hummingbird after too much caffeine. Sparkplug chittered – there was no other word for it – a sound like falling screws and playful laughter, then leaped onto the paradox engine. Her hands danced across the surface, leaving trails of blue-white sparks in their wake.
Logan couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene, drawing the attention of those around him. He caught bits of excited whispers from the crowd.
“Did you see that? She just converted to energy!”
“I heard the Rust Devils can do all sorts of impossible things.”
“Yeah, but is it natural or one of those crazy tick experiments…”
Logan’s curiosity piqued. He leaned in slightly, trying to catch more of the conversation without being obvious.
“I’m telling you,” one voice said urgently, “messing with an old engine like this is dangerous. Remember the Great Temporal Quake of ’32? Or was it ’23? Anyway, half the Clockwork District ended up a century in the past!”
“Oh, come off it,” another voice scoffed. “That’s just an urban legend. Besides, if the Timekeepers thought this was really dangerous, they’d have shut it down already.”
“Unless,” a third voice chimed in, lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “the Timekeepers Just don't want to the foot the bill for fixing it.”
Logan’s head spun as he tried to process the flood of information. Timekeepers? Temporal Quakes? Just how deep did the rabbit hole go in this city?
Before he could ponder further, a loud crack echoed across the square. The air itself seemed to ripple, colors inverting for a split second before snapping back to normal. The crowd collectively held its breath, all eyes fixed on the paradox engine.
The blue-haired woman – who Logan was beginning to suspect was in charge of this entire operation – again had both hands plunged into the machine’s innards.
“Rusty!” she shouted. “I need more power to the temporal stabilizers! We’re losing cohesion in the beta-seven timestream!”
Rusty grunted in acknowledgment, his clockwork arm whirring as he made rapid adjustments to a panel that looked like a cross between a pipe organ and a switchboard. “Diverting power now, boss!” he called back. “But we’re pushing the limits of the containment field. Any more and we risk a full chronoton cascade!”
Stolen story; please report.
Logan felt a tug on his pant leg and looked down to see Roscoe, the dog’s intelligent eyes fixed on the scene before them. “I do believe,” Roscoe said, his cultured voice incongruous coming from a canine mouth, “that we might want to take a step back. Things appear to be getting rather… volatile.”
As if on cue, the paradox engine gave a loud groan. Gears that had been spinning smoothly began to stutter and skip. The core, which had been pulsing with a steady rhythm, now flickered erratically, its light shifting through colors Logan had no names for.
“Dynamo!” the blue-haired woman yelled, her voice tight with urgency. “Reroute the auxiliary power through the quantum harmonizer! We need to stabilize the core before it goes critical!"
Dynamo, who was practically vibrating with nervous energy, scrambled to comply. Her hands flew over a series of levers and dials, each movement sending new cascades of energy coursing through the paradox engine.
The air around the machine began to warp and twist. Logan felt a strange pressure in his ears, as if he were deep underwater. Sounds became muffled and distorted, voices stretching and compressing in impossible ways.
“I say,” Roscoe commented, his tail tucked firmly between his legs, “this is beginning to feel rather like that time we accidentally stumbled on that exploding Gas truck back in Charleston. Perhaps a strategic retreat is in order?”
Logan nodded, taking a step back. But even as he did so, he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the unfolding spectacle. The paradox engine was now surrounded by a shimmering field of energy, like heat haze on a summer day. Within this field, objects seemed to age and de-age at random. A dropped wrench rusted away to nothing, only to reform a moment later, gleaming as if newly forged.
The blue-haired woman was shouting instructions rapid-fire, her words blending together into a stream of technical jargon that made Logan’s head spin. Rusty and Dynamo moved in perfect synchronization, their actions almost mechanical in precision.
Sparkplug, meanwhile, had clambered to the top of the paradox engine, her wild hair crackling with static electricity. Her hands moved with dizzying speed over a panel of blinking lights and pulsing crystals. “Boss!” she called down, her voice barely audible over the machine’s growing roar. “The flux regulator’s redlining! I can’t keep it stable much longer!”
Suddenly, a high-pitched whine cut through the engines bass hum. The core flared with blinding intensity, forcing Logan to shield his eyes. When he looked again, he gasped in amazement.
The space around the machine had… opened. There was no other way to describe it. It was as if reality itself had peeled back, revealing glimpses of other times, other places. Logan caught fleeting images of ancient forests and futuristic cityscapes, of vast deserts and storm-tossed seas. Each vista flickered and changed continuously.
“We’ve done it!” the blue-haired woman crowed, her voice filled with triumph. “Temporal alignment achieved! Rusty, start the calibration sequence. Dynamo, keep an eye on those flux readings. We don’t want a repeat of the Great Time Slip of ’23…or was it 32?”
Logan felt a surge of relief. It seemed the crisis had been averted. But as he watched, he noticed something that made his blood run cold. A massive gear, easily the size of a car tire, was working its way loose from the top of the machine. And directly beneath it, oblivious to the danger as she focused on her task, was Sparkplug.
He moved.
Logan vaulted over the makeshift barrier separating the crowd from the machine, ignoring Roscoe’s startled bark. His feet found purchase on the uneven surface of the contraption, muscle memory from years of rescue work kicking in as he climbed, adrenaline masking the speed at which he moved even to himself. He couldn't help a slight grin as he remembered his first captain- ‘ you’re professionals boys, not heroes. And shaddup Hernandez, I know you’re a woman. Don’t be a hero- they tend to die.’
“Hey!” he yelled, reaching for Sparkplug. “Look out!”
Sparkplug’s head whipped around, her eyes widening in surprise. Logan’s hand closed around her arm just as the gear broke free with a sound like A car crash. He yanked hard, pulling Sparkplug off her perch as the gear crashed through the space she’d occupied a split second before.
For a moment, they were airborne. Logan twisted, trying to position himself to take the brunt of the fall. The ground rushed up to meet them, and he closed his eyes, bracing for impact.
The crash never came. Instead, Logan felt as if they were sinking into a giant pillow. He opened his eyes to find themselves on the ground, the impact far softer than it should have been. For a split second, the earth beneath them felt malleable, almost liquid, before solidifying again. A tingling sensation raced through Logan’s hands, and he had a fleeting moment of awareness – had he done that?
“Holy chrono-cogs,” Sparkplug breathed, scrambling off of him. Her wild hair was even more disheveled now, metal bits glinting among the tangled strands. “That was… you just… wow.” Her cheeks flushed, and Logan couldn’t tell if it was from the adrenaline of their near-miss or something else. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling slightly. “ Thanks for the save, stranger. That was some primo timing.”
Logan groaned, sitting up slowly. His training kicked in, and he ran a quick visual check on Sparkplug for any signs of injury. “You okay?” he managed, his own heart still racing from the close call.
“Okay? I’m better than okay! That was amazing!” Sparkplug bounced on her heels, apparently unaffected by their near-death experience. He vaguely heard the crowd nearby roar in approval as they realized that everyone was okay. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she looked at Logan. “How’d you move so fast? Are you a stealth gearhead? Oh! Maybe you’re from one of those experimental districts out near the Loop? Can you teach me how to---”
“Sparkplug!” The blue-haired woman’s voice cut through the rapid-fire questions. She strode over, her expression a mix of relief and exasperation. The burly man, Rusty, was right behind her, his metallic eyes scanning Logan with obvious suspicion.
“What have I told you about safety harnesses?” the woman demanded, her tone stern but underlaid with concern.
Sparkplug had the grace to look sheepish. “Uh, always use ‘em?”
“And were you?”
“Well, I mean, technically---”
The woman held up a hand, silencing Sparkplug mid-excuse. She turned to Logan, who was now on his feet, brushing off his new clothes and trying not to look as shaken as he felt.
“Nice save, stranger,” she said, her tone and bright emerald eyes guarded but not unfriendly. “You’ve got some quick reflexes there.”
Logan shrugged, aiming for nonchalant despite his racing heart. “Just reacted on instinct. Name’s Logan. I’m, uh, from out near the Loop. Still getting used to the rhythm of the inner districts." The lie felt awkward on his tongue, but Evangeline had warned him about revealing his true origins.
“I can tell,” the woman said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Well, Logan from the Loop, that was either the bravest or the dumbest thing I’ve seen all week.” She extended a hand. “Name’s Mira. ” She gestured to the machine behind her, which was now emitting an ominous whine. “What brings you to this corner of the scrap yard? Not much sightseeing here.”
Before Logan could respond, Roscoe trotted up, eyeing the still-smoking machine warily. “I do hope near-death experiences aren’t a daily occurrence in your line of work,” he said dryly. “Though given the nature of this city, I suppose that’s a rather optimistic assumption.”
Mira raised an eyebrow, but seemed unfazed by the talking dog. "Danger's part of the job when you're working with old hardware and limited funds- but the people out here needed the help. But we try to keep the actual death to a minimum." She studied Logan for a moment, then fished in her pocket and pulled out a small, gear-shaped device, tossing it to him.
"Listen, as much as I'd love to chat, we've got a temperamental temporal core that's about to go critical. But if you're looking to put those reflexes to use and maybe earn some creds, give us a call. We could always use another pair of hands around here. Especially ones attached to someone who can pull off stunts like that."
Logan caught the device, turning it over in his hand. It was warm to the touch and seemed to pulse faintly, like a mechanical heartbeat. "I'll think about it," he said, trying to sound casual. "Thanks for the offer."
Rusty, who had been quiet until now, stepped forward. His mechanical eye whirred as it focused on Logan. "Don't think too long," he rumbled. "Time's a fickle thing. Opportunities have a way of slipping through your fingers if you're not quick to grab 'em." He paused, his organic eye narrowing slightly. "And just so we're clear, if you do join up, you follow orders. No more temponaut heroics without clearance. We work as a team here, got it?"
Logan nodded, sensing the underlying threat in Rusty's words. "Got it. Team player, through and through."
Sparkplug, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly piped up. "Oh, come on, Mech! Don't scare him off before he's even in." She turned to Logan, her eyes bright with excitement. "Don't mind the old rust bucket. He's all gears and no heart sometimes. But seriously, you should think about it. It'd be great to have someone else around who can keep up with the chaos."
Mira shot Sparkplug a look that was half amusement, half exasperation. "Alright, enough recruitment pitches. We've got work to do, before the gear guard shut us down. Time wave could come at any time and the ticks ain't gonna help these people. Ordinance 3.14 my ass." She nodded to Logan. "Think it over. If you're interested, you know how to reach us."
With that, she turned back to the engine, barking orders as her crew swarmed over it. Rusty gave Logan one last appraising look before following her. Sparkplug lingered for a moment, looking like she wanted to say something more, but a sharp call from Mira had her scrambling back to her post, throwing a quick wave to Logan over her shoulder As she shrugged into a harness.
As Logan and Roscoe turned to leave, pushing through the crowd, Logan waved off congratulations and handshakes alike, used to the fallout of a rescue.
"Well," Roscoe said quietly as they walked away, "I'd say that's enough excitement for one morning. Though I suspect here the concept of 'enough excitement' is rather relative."
As they made their way back through the winding streets of the district, Logan found himself replaying the events of the morning in his mind. The massive machine, the brush with danger, the strange sensation of the ground turning to putty beneath him... it was all so surreal.
"What do you think, Roscoe?" he asked, absently patting the gear-shaped device in his pocket. "Should we take them up on their offer?"
Roscoe was quiet for a moment, his intelligent eyes scanning their surroundings. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. "It's not without risk, certainly. The Rust Devils seem to operate in a rather gray area of Kronos law, if such a thing even exists. And their work is clearly dangerous." He paused, then added, "However, they also appear to be resourceful, knowledgeable, and - dare I say it - fun. In a city like this, having allies might prove invaluable."
Logan nodded, considering. "Yeah, you're right. And maybe they can help us figure out... whatever it is that's happening to me." He flexed his hand, remembering the strange sensation of the ground softening beneath him. "I mean, that wasn't normal, right?"
Roscoe looked at him curiously- ” what do you mean?”
He turned a corner, and Logan realized with a start that they were back at Evangeline's shop. The windows glowed with an otherworldly light, and the scent of tea wafted from the open door. Light seemed to bend around the building, making it hard to focus on its exact dimensions.
"Well, I guess I can explain inside." Logan said, a wry smile tugging at his lips, "seems like we're just in time for lunch. Maybe Evangeline can shed some light on all this."
They entered the shop, the bell above the door chiming once, twice, thrice, each a softer echo of the last. Evangeline looked up from behind the counter, breaking into a knowing smile. Her gaze made Logan feel like she was seeing right through him.
"Ah, Logan, Roscoe. I trust your exploration was... enlightening?"
Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "That's one word for it. We met some interesting people. The Rust Devils. Know anything about them?"
Evangeline's eyes crinkled in amusement. "Oh, I know a thing or two. Mira and her crew are an interesting crowd. Always pushing boundaries, that bunch. Did they offer you a gear?”
Logan blinked in surprise. "How did you-"
"My dear," Evangeline interrupted, " Knowledge is currency. And I'm a very wealthy woman." She gestured to a table in the corner, where two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of what looked like glowing pastries had just appeared. "Sit. Eat. Tell me everything."
As Logan recounted the morning's events, Evangeline listened intently, her expression shifting between concern, amusement, and something Logan couldn't quite place. When he finished, she was quiet for a long moment, absently stirring her tea with a spoon that seemed to phase in and out of existence.
"Logan," she said finally, her voice serious, " The Rust Devils... they're not bad people. Reckless, perhaps. Idealistic, certainly. But they're fighting for something they believe in. Their home. And they could be powerful allies.”
She leaned forward, her eyes locked on Logan's. "But remember this: Nothing is ever simple. Every action has consequences, every choice interacting with every other choice: yours and not, in ways you can't possibly predict. Be careful. Be smart. And above all, trust your instincts. They've served you well so far."
Logan nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle on his shoulders. He glanced at Roscoe, who gave a small nod of encouragement.
"So what do I do now?" Logan asked, his voice betraying a mix of excitement and uncertainty.
Evangeline's smile returned, enigmatic as ever. "Now? You take your time, my dear. Consider your options carefully. The Rust Devils are just one possibility in a city full of them. Explore, and learn., "
"You have a gift, Logan," she said softly. "A connection to the very fabric of Kronos. It's raw, untamed, but it's there. They could potentially help you understand it, harness it. But be warned: there are those who would seek to exploit such power. Be careful who you trust. ”
She reached across the table, placing her hand over Logan's. Her touch was warm, and he felt a strange tingling sensation, as if tiny sparks were dancing across his skin.
Logan swallowed hard, his mind reeling. "I'll think about it. It's a lot to process, you know?"
"Of course it is," Evangeline said, her voice gentle. "This isn't a place that reveals its secrets easily. The Rust Devils will still be there when you're ready to make a decision. That gear? They only give that to those that have earned their respect. And yours isn't just a token- it's a communicator. Handle it with care, Mr. Walker. “
As Logan finished his tea, he played with the device Mira had given him. The gear-shaped thing weighed heavily in his hand- all buttons and lights he didn’t yet understand. But it was his. And for the first time, he felt a string attach itself to his place.
Kronos had already turned his world upside down. Now, it seemed, it was offering him a chance to find his footing. That night, as he drifted off to sleep, Logan's dreams were filled with gears and lightning, blue-haired women and talking dogs.
But this time- it wasn’t such a nightmare.