Automata

Chapter 1

Oliver and Samuel sat in their workshop, tinkering, surrounded by gears, springs, and other parts covering every surface. They probably should have tidied up more often, but they had been busy at work designing and crafting different automaton pieces. They were feeling the rush because they were close to finishing their first automaton since the founding of Moreau & Co. Automata. Oliver had been upset that the Company's name rhymed; it reminded him of schoolyard songs that were often startlingly graphic, but he had thought that "Griggs" didn't exactly sound like a fine craftsman's name.

Oliver couldn't help but admit that though Samuel seemed to have a certain disregard for his own personal appearance, he was actually very skilled at his work. He was able to help Oliver assemble complicated clockwork parts to power the automatons, and weld them strongly together so that Oliver wouldn't have to worry about it falling apart in front of a crowd, in which case he would likely have to flee back to France in embarrassment, or possibly even farther.

As Oliver sat staring into space, pondering whether he could make it as a snake oil salesman in America, his thoughts were interrupted by Sam's gruff but amiable cockney voice.

"Oi, I think it's done!"

Oliver looked over to see that Sam had finished the final shining of the automaton, a small mechanical tree, with branches looping out in each direction, ending in small tin leaves. Sam grinned proudly, and Oliver had to admit; it did look a hell of a lot like silver.

Oliver stood and approached the tree, content with its appearance.

"Looks good, Samuel." Oliver grinned. "Looks almost like they do back home."

"Well, I don't know if I could ever reach that level; everything I've seen from France has a 'better than you' air about it." He let out a hearty laugh, and Oliver frowned.

"Well that's because it is." Oliver said.

"Oi, I'm just messing with you mate. You can call me Sam if you'd like, by the way. What brought you to good old London, Oliver? Can't be just ta' sell your gizmos. Coulda' done that back in Paris!"

"As much as I hate to say it, Britain has superior medical universities. I'm studying just down the road from here. I'm going to be a surgeon, you know."

"Oh, the doctor type, eh? That university must cost a load of shillings, need this business to make it, yeah?"

"Precisely."

"Tidier than being a ditch cleaner, eh?" He laughed. "You're right good at making these things, though."

"Yes, it has been a hobby of mine for years," Oliver said. "Now let's go unveil the first functioning work of Moreau & Co. Automata," Oliver said, growing more excited. He had put a lot of passion into his clockwork hobby in his early years, and now he could finally earn something for it. And put off starving as he pursued his dream. An added bonus. He would only need to keep the business going for a few years before he would be able to open a practice of his own. Finally he would get to cut people open. For their benefit, of course.

Oliver and Sam hefted the automaton onto a cart and draped a cloth over it. Oliver couldn't stop from grinning as they wheeled it out of the shop. London was about to be amazed.

They took the machine to a nearby square, where people were milling about, a few peddlers were selling their wares, and several paper boys were shouting, trying to call people to buy from them. Oliver and Sam carted the automaton into the center of the crowd and stood, waiting for people to crowd around. To put it mildly, they didn't. Absolutely no one gave the men a glance as they walked by. It was as if a crow on a lamppost would have been more interesting than them.