Drowning Utopia

Chapter 1: Barnes Brothers Traveling Circus Troupe

Tessa Copperfield sat hunched over in a crawlspace with a kerosene lamp held between her knees. Decked out in a threadbare flannel with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The young woman rubbed the perspiration off her forehead with a gloved hand, inadvertently smearing grease on her shock of red hair and the paperboy's cap pulled over it. 

She shifted to get at a wiring panel tucked behind some copper piping. Feeling restricted in her movement, Tessa slid her slender arms out from the straps of her overalls, allowing them to fall loosely around her waist. Adjusting her father's old tool belt, she pulled the panel off, pouring over the wiring and gears. Come on now; she thought as she traced the endless inner workings of her machine. Where is it?

A tap on the stage accompanied a hushed voice. "Are you almost finished? They're coming in now."

"Almost there, Marcus! Go ahead and start," she called back, finding the problem; another brake in one of the wires. A rodent must have chewed through it, she thought. Pulling out her pliers, Tessa yanked an extra length free from a spool on her belt before stripping the gnawed pieces of their lining and adding the additional wire to the brake. A temporary fix, but it would have to do. Tessa could hear the commotion of a throng of people gathering outside. Dousing her lamp, she peered through one of the openings in her machine.

The smell of popcorn, candied apples, and hotdogs contradicted the scent of kerosene, grease, sweat, and alcohol that filled the tent as the restless crowds filed in. From Tessa's vantage point, she could see that the majority on the right were Colonists like herself, murmuring excitedly. However, Tessa could also spot a few Natives on the left. Several tan-skinned Omale with their thin eyes, slight builds, and traditional attire stood near a collection of Mir, and a large Jotnar man.

As the crowd began to hush each other, an old Omale man stepped from the shadows. He was illuminated by a single spot lamp that flickered and sputtered with the whimsical flame. The other Omale in the audience cheered in their distinct whooping way as one of them shouted, "Alicay Marcus!"

The old man looked about with a twinkle in his thin eyes. He glanced at the audience from under the brim of his hat before proclaiming in a booming baritone voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. We of the Barnes Brothers Traveling Circus Troupe welcome one and all to our show!"

The crowd gave an excited hurrah as Marcus bowed in a courtly fashion before donning his felt hat upon his head again. "For our first act here in tent one, we shall regale you with the harrowing story of our nation's darkest hour, the end of the Liberation Wars of New Albion!" Spreading his arms wide, Marcus exclaimed, "I give you the Battle of Galesong!"

All around Tessa, her machine sprang to life. Gears and cogs spun and whirled as Marcus activated the diorama. Tessa could hear the miniature battle taking place above her head. She watched wearily as she prayed that her quick fix addressed the problem. To her relief, at least from her limited perspective, all the pieces appeared to work as intended.

She could imagine what the crowd was seeing; lights and flying contraptions buzzing to life around the air above the masses. Miniature steam-powered airships diving in and out from one another on hidden wires. Below, plastic men and cavalry charged each other with mechanical monstrosities of war. All this was on and above an elevated stage resembling the fields outside the capital. Rolling forested hills stood in the foreground, giving way to a scarred battlefield backing up to the capital city perched atop the coastal cliffs. At their peak, the massive Wind Fortress— the location of the final climatic fight of the decade and a half-conflict between the Missidith Empire and what would become known as the Republic of New Albion.