Chapter 45 - Steamscript Relay Station

"Turn back, wanderers. Turn back. These grounds aren't meant for nightly escapades. This place is haunted, and you would do well to not be around when the wretched melody plays out. It will ruin you!"

Instead of focusing on his words, Vern first tried to figure out if the man had any weapons, but he was standing in a section where light wasn't welcome at all. His cane was the only thing that shone with some luster.

Cera had stopped and was looking at the man, her eyebrows knit together tightly. Before Vern could respond, she took the chance to do so, "Oh, is that so? Can you tell us more about this wretched melody? Where does it originate from, and why is it happening?"

Heh. That's one way to handle ominous-sounding declarations.

Vern looked on, waiting for a response. But maybe he was as dumbfounded as Vern because he went completely quiet.

Then just when Vern was getting impatient, the man continued, completely ignoring her question, "Don't play with fire, wanderers. You're no match for the devil that haunts the station. Begone. May you find your worth in the mundane world."

But Cera was having none of it. "How do you know about what’s happening in there? Also, when did we say that we came here to go inside the station?"

Pfft. He barely held back his laughter. She was asking some real questions here.

The cane seemed to lose its balance—or maybe not? It was hard to figure out. Vern wanted to be serious and listen to the man, but even if a little unconventional, her questions were legit in their own right.

So he waited, but all the shadow did was snort, "Hmph!"

TAP TAP TAP

Then the outline shifted around and retreated into the alleyway that bordered the Relay station's perimeter. Cera hastily got closer and shouted, “Excuse me. Where are you going? Please answer my questions.”

Vern trailed behind her, but by the time his lamp illuminated that unlit section and the alleyway, it was completely empty. Unsure of what to make of it, he glanced at the displeased Cera, who stood there, looking quite lost.

"Why can't people answer questions in good faith?"

Vern just shrugged his shoulders, "Some people like to act out the role. But that aside, we should still be careful, Cera. That 'wretched melody' sounds quite like what you mentioned before."

"Right? That was the whole reason I inquired about it. That guy was just being rude."

Shaking her head, she led the way into the relay station.

Vern prepared himself one final time. He was banking on his skills as a Fundamentalist to help him figure out whatever was going wrong in there. But was that really enough? Hadn't Cera just cautioned him that sometimes less knowledge was beneficial? That delving too deeply could prove counterproductive?

But I guess one needs to understand when to delve into mysteries and when not to. Also, I really would rather not be ungrateful to her. If it was just enlightenment, something of the order of what the man was doing in the hotel inkwell should be enough. Vern could easily handle that much—not including the two men later on, of course.

Making up his mind, he followed Cera. The lamps around the entrance of the station were completely out, even the ones that reused the condensed fuel. Luckily, he had his own one this time.

Despite some areas being shrouded in darkness, the overall structure was generously illuminated by the celestial bodies above. It stretched widely across the landscape for about twenty houses in a row yet was quite short in stature.

The metallic whistles atop the station were a feat of mechanical arts, their size likely contributing to the station's relatively low height.

Four enormous tapered cylinders, each pointing in a cardinal direction, commanded the roof. Beyond the nearest one, Vern could see pipes that connected these external mammoths to the intricate mechanisms housed within the structure.

Hmm. Is that a dent on the east whistle? He wasn't sure. But the east one's shape was a little off compared to the others.

Well, who knew? It could just be another design choice or some defect.

Looking back down, he realized Cera was also ogling the station. Maybe she's never been to this part of the city? That means she never used the Relay Station herself.

But that didn't matter. Ignoring these idle thoughts, they crossed the perimeter surrounding the station using a large entrance, which didn't have a gate.

As they closed in on the door to the actual building, he asked, "Are you ready?"

She shook her head, "I am not. But this is as ready as I can be. How about you?"

"Well, I still don't know what to expect, so I have a few suggestions before we head in."

"Mhm."

"Let me inspect the inbound pipes to check for any faults and then survey the exterior of the building."

She agreed without hesitation.

.

.

.

They spent an additional thirty minutes surveying the outskirts of the building. All he discovered were a handful of pipes that surfaced briefly for pressure regulation, before disappearing underground. He had unscrewed one for inspection. However, they were devoid of any signs of activity—no steam, no gas.

Everything seemed as ordinary as it could be.

There isn't much more I can deduce from the outside, going in is the only option.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Unable and unwilling to find any other excuses to tarry any longer, he made his way back to the front door, Cera following closely. This much due diligence was enough. If he wanted to entertain further paranoia, he might as well just go back to the hotel.

Steeling his mind, he pushed open one of the three doorways that stood next to each other, giving the relay station a very welcoming presence.

It was hard to make out the details due to the darkness, but this relay station was much grander than the ones he'd been to before.

The interior was an unsettling contrast of form and function, bearing the remnants of bustling life. A counter stood abandoned, where civilians would have lined up to place and receive letter delivery orders, its polished wooden surface reflecting the dim light from tarnished brass sconces.

Nearby, ticketing windows and pigeonholes held an array of unclaimed messages, untouched and gathering dust. There were a couple of pews by the door, empty dresses lining their bases. The silence hung heavily in the air, broken only by the occasional creak of the wooden floor in a somber echo.

Quite the expected scene, if Vern had to be honest. Feeling more at ease, they walked in, the taps of their shoes further disturbing the silence.

"Vern, where do you suggest we begin our search?"

"Hmm, this one’s quite massive compared to the ones I've been to. Just the civilian section takes up more space than a train platform. Given that this is the capital, there must be a section for VIPs, government officials, and even Royals. I remember you had looked through the architectural plan for this one. Did it mention any control hub or nexus of pipes?"

She shook her head, "The plans I found didn’t outline the rooms, they only depicted the gas pipeline network in the building. From what I understood, it went down to the basement of the structure and had nothing like a confluence you mentioned earlier."

He nodded, "Gas pipelines are different from the pipes that would transmit sound throughout the structure and channel it to the whistles up above."

He thought about it for a few more seconds before replying, "I guess we can start by checking out where the letters taken from civilians go to."

With the lamp illuminating just enough space around him, he left the main door behind and entered the chamber. It had a plaque hanging outside it, engraved with the text, 'Message Reception Hall.'

Numerous envelopes lay scattered on the floor beneath the opening of what appeared to be a sealed pneumatic tube. They were constructed from flexible glass adorned with metal joints, allowing one to see the letters whizzing by, propelled by gusts of pressurized steam. Not in this case obviously, the letters merely lay dormant, waiting for pressure to pull them in.

This design made quite a lot of sense. Since they had multiple sources of letters in the same building, it wouldn't be ideal to translate them into sound at each and every one of them.

So they had to be moving towards the nexus, where someone would retype them into a special typewriter that could record sounds. Relay stations actually allowed the senders to type their letters themselves due to privacy concerns, but most people didn’t know how to type or didn’t bother. For those that did, there was an extra fee to be paid.

So, if he could trace the path of these pneumatic tubes, he should find himself nearing the core of the transmission pipes.

Cera picked up one of the envelopes and began perusing through its contents. "A congratulations letter to some friend that was never delivered."

Vern didn't say anything as he shone the light inside the pneumatic tubes to see if there were any curves or changes in direction.

Both of them busied themselves for a bit.

Then Vern said, "Alright. We should go further in. There is nothing else in here that can give us any more clues."

Cera replaced all the letters back on the counter, sliding them into their respective envelopes. Perturbed, he asked, "What is the point of reading them?"

"Ah, nothing. Just trying to learn more about people's intentions and thoughts."

Vern knew there was more to it, so he asked, "Is it related to your Viewpoint?"

She gasped before quickly trying to hide her shock and said with some annoyance, "Sometimes, you're too sharp! Please focus on the pipes. Not me. Okay? The pipes."

He chuckled and walked out of the room. Passing by a few similar rooms which each seemed to have some sort of pneumatic tubes of their own, they followed the direction he extrapolated the tubes to be moving in.

Navigating a narrow corridor that delved deeper into the building, they soon emerged into a grand hall adorned with thick pillars. Portraits graced each wall, adding an air of antiquity to the space.

There was a tall bronze statue in the center as well, a motionless fountain enclosing it within. It was a likening of Emperor Aldric his arm outstretched as if offering a decree to the world.

But even though it was such an open area, the sight gave him the chills. The silent eyes of the statue and the portraits seemed to follow him as he passed by the pillars, side stepping all the clothes which belonged to the victims of Duskfall.

Nevertheless, he ignored his nerves and focused his attention on locating any signs of pipe fittings or markings.

It was unfortunate that all the machinery was hidden within the walls with so much finesse that none of it was visible. The station looked more like some governmental office rather than the mechanical miracle that it was.

Checking another room connected to the hall, he found one more set of pneumatic tubes. Assuming they all converged in same area, he exited the room and followed the expected trail back out into the hall.

After running back and forth a few more times, he finally found a corridor where pipes were visible on the ceiling. Not hesitating too much, he followed the corridor to the end which culminated in a vast chamber.

At last, he felt a sense of progress.

The massive hall stood eerily still. Pneumatic tubes that once shuttled letters lay motionless, gathering dust. Catwalks overhead led to a tangled mess of valves and pipes, now silent and devoid of the hissing steam that should have filled the room.

Along one wall, a row of typewriters sat abandoned at wooden desks, their keys silenced, chairs pushed askew.

He could almost hear the bustling of uniformed attendants and the whirring of gears in this mechanical wonderland, but now all that met his ears was the occasional eerie creak or distant clang resonating through the emptiness.

While this wasn't the central hub of the transmission pipes he was searching for, it was evidently a crucial part of the station. He might be able to glean some hints on where to proceed next from this point.

But before all that, he had to burn this sight into his memory. To Vern, the room was a masterpiece. The pipes all around were arranged and directed with such careful precision that he was certain an equation must have guided their placement and spacing.

Everything was so efficiently set up that he was lamenting the fact that he didn't come in when all of this was working. Cera looked around just like him, her eyes shining with amazement.

"Vern, do you know what this place is? Are these the transmission pipes you were mentioning?"

He shook his head, "No, not really. I would say this is where they buffer all the letters, and those typewriters aren't exactly steam scripts, they're just normal ones. This looks to be the sorting and distribution hub instead."

Her eyes dulled for a second, but she quickly regained her energy and spoke, "Obviously, it can't be this straightforward. The real magic hides behind the mundane, doesn't it?"

Vern just nodded, his attention focused on something else at the far end of the corridor. Something was wrong with tubes over there. There was a rush of steam in that set every few seconds, yet the envelopes inside oscillated back and forth with an abnormal fervor.

Intrigued, he moved closer to the thing, and Cera picked up on the oddity as well. It was peculiar on two fronts. First that it was working at all. Second that it wasn't behaving like a normal tube was supposed to.

The entire setup seemed illogical. It appeared as if a novice had tampered with everything, oblivious to the consequences of their actions. None of the configuration made any sense.

Eager to figure out why the system was still working when whole station was out of operation, and displeased by the disregard shown to this magnificent setup, he promptly examined the basic configuration and began adjusting the valves back to the industry standards. After turning the valve for flow control, he waited until the gauge above it read 7.13 vaporstrength.

Similar changes happened for pressure relief and non-return valve. However, the moment the reading on the rotary valve hit 0.32,

WEEENNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGG

A screeching boom resonated throughout his surroundings.