The Vitruvian Boy, or Adventures in the Last Steam Colony

Prologue

A sharp pain woke him. In rapid succession, as though being streamed into his brain, he thought: zygomaticus muscles sting—stinging results from stimulus—stimulus sharp—slap. He was being slapped. Specifically, he was being slapped on his facial muscles—his cheeks.

He opened his eyes.

His vision blurred. His pupils had to focus. It was difficult because everything was dark except for flickering lights that snapped and crackled, fizzing in and out with the electricity. AC current—120 volts, 60 cycle power—Westinghouse, Edison, Tesla—flickering means a short in the wires—sparks? Sparks may be dangerous. Watch for sparks.

A man was in front of him—the one who had slapped him. A pair of thick, smudged lenses hid his eyes—prothetic goggles—he had straggly white hair that hung down his neck in greasy strands. Sharp lines defined the folds of his face. His teeth flashed yellow in the light, crooked. He was saying something, his lips so chapped they were bleeding—no, his upper lip had been cut. Blood trickled down one tooth.

“—Keiro, they’re here.” The man coughed. Blood came up. Internal injuries. “There’s no time. Can you move?”

He looked down at his hands and his fingers twitched. Smooth, youthful skin. His body was biologically just over 16 years old. 5843.89 days. 140253.36 hours. Currently functioning at 84.2% capacity. Move, he ordered himself. This time, his hand closed into a fist. He blinked.

“Yes,” he said.

“They’ll be here soon to retrieve you,” the man said. “Come.”

“Negative. Identification required,” he said.

The man paused. “Good. Your brain is functioning,” he said and he lifted the goggles from his face, showing deep-set, watery, grey eyes. “I am Doctor S. Renton Vhole, Second Engineer of the Dynabiotechnology Department of the Earthsphere Institute of Scientific Discovery.”

Dynabiotechnology Department of Earthsphere Institute of Scientific Discovery—primary scientific research facility of the Earthsphere Republic—located at Lagrangian Point 3 outside Earth’s orbit—originally hypothesized by Greek philosopher, Philolaus (470-385 BCE).

The scientist pulled him up and he stumbled. His legs tingled like static running through his muscles. Muscle fibers unbroken—just unused. He stumbled again and then followed, one step after another. He stepped on something that crunched and pain shot through his left foot. He was not wearing shoes and he had stepped on glass. Broken glass from the large tube he had been standing in. Beneath the broken glass, a metal plate lay on the floor labeled Spec. AX29041.

The man pulled him along by the arm and as they broke into a shuffling run toward the far end of the laboratory, he could feel wind on him. Chilly, because he was wet, covered in a sticky liquid, and wearing nothing but a pair of breeches. Wires with blistered ends hung sparking from the ceiling. Between the intermittent flashes of light, he saw metal tables and chairs, broken glass tubes and liquid staining the floors. Hot stream spurted from bent metal pipes. They left the laboratory and entered a dark corridor. He could still see because of pale light coming through the thick plated windows—natural light from the stars in space that surrounded them. Steam Colony C2—established in Before War Year 32—32 BW—one of three colonies remaining.

The man stopped in front of a round gate. He coughed hard, raspy. Punctured lung—needs immediate medical assistance. The man grabbed the lever in front of the gate and began cranking it. Every time he rolled it again, the sound echoed through the corridor, and the big metal teeth of the gate ground open.

“Get in,” the man said and shoved him in the small chamber on the other side. Brass dials and disks lined a board with their hands all spinning in different directions. A single pilot’s chair sat in the middle of the room in front of the spherical window—emergency ejection pod no.542 of C2—coordinates set for L3x3681 Steam Colony C3. The man punched a couple of buttons by the door of the ejection pod and the lights flickered on inside. “You’re going to C3—”

“L3x3681 Steam Colony C3,” he said, repeating the information.

“Yes,” the man said and the corners of his lips turned up. Zygomaticus major and risorius muscles at work—a smile—emotional indicator. “You are our masterpiece—our pièce de résistance.”

“Who am I?” he asked.

“Specimen AX29041,” the man said and coughed again.

A loud siren blared through the corridor so loud that he automatically raised his hands to block the sound. Emergency siren—systems failure—immediate evacuation necessary.

“A name,” he said.

The man’s eyebrows pulled down—a frown. “What?”

“My name,” he said louder. “What is my name?” A jolt shook through the pod and corridor and he felt his feet slip and drift, sudden weightlessness—gravity controls down.

“You haven’t got one,” the man said and then sighed. “We called you Keiro, K-E-I-R-O.” Greek pronunciation—kay-ee-ro. The man looked behind him and Keiro heard shouts, faint behind the sirens, and heavy footsteps—running people. “If you want a name, it’s Keiro.”

“What is my mission?” Keiro asked. The words came automatically.

The man smiled again. “Escape C2. I will buy you time.” He whirled around and with shuffling steps, he went the way they had come, back toward the laboratory.

“Mission accepted,” Keiro said.

He sat down in the pilot’s seat, sinking into the plush red velvet cushions. He looked at the dials and numbers, and began flipping the switches and levers. Thrusters up gearing at 82.9%—location coordinates double-checked for LS42x3681 Port 32—estimated time of arrival 3 hours and 42 minutes at full speed—safety buckles fastened. He pushed a lever and the door behind him shut, muffling the noise of the siren.

He finished looking at all the dials and he knew it had taken him a full 4 minutes and 23 seconds to finish. An acceptable time.

Keiro pushed the last button and felt the shudder as the ejection pod pulled away from C2. Through the window, he could see debris fanned out from a large jagged hole in the side of the giant metal sphere—the steam colony. Twisted bits of metal and glass drifted slowly past his window. A wind-up pocket watch, still ticking, floated out of his view. Following its trajectory with his eyes, Keiro saw a blue, brown planet the size of his fist—Planet Earth—62% water, 33.5% nuclear wasteland, 4.5% currently inhabitable.

He heard a muffled bang and rumble just before his seat shook and he pitched forward. A chunk of the colony split apart and more debris pieces flew past him. Another jolt threw him from the seat. Something had hit the pod and a hiss indicated steam was leaking. The red lines on a gauge began to drop.

He could see another large chunk of debris hurtling toward him and his fingers flew, calibrating distance, speed, damage assessment, time until impact. There was still a chance. Thrusters were at 96.2%. Debris impact in 29 seconds. Thrusters at 97.1%. Debris impact in 16 seconds. Thrusters at 98.4%. Debris impact in 4 seconds. Thrusters at 99.7%.

The ejection pod turned and shot into the stars. 

“Mission accomplished,” Keiro said to the hum and beeps of the machinery. There was no one to listen.