Dieselpunk: An Anthology by Craig Gabrysch

Smith just kept chewing, unconcerned, an then stood up.
    “Well, that was very sweet,” he said over his shoulder, an to that side, the one-eyed girl halted, sister in her arms as she tried to creep away. “But you know,” Mr. Smith said, “that was only half.”
    An he turned round to them.
    Missy Gin thought quick, then pulled her gun back. “Mr. Smith!” she called out. “You follow me back!”
    Mr. Smith looked at her. “Why in all creation would I do that?”
    “Because,” Missy Gin said, aiming again, “if’n you don’t, I’ll make sure you never get out of Yesterday agin.”
    Mr. Smith looked at her. Then Mr. Smith looked where her gun was aiming — right at his ship, at them hydrogenium lifts.
    “You study on that a bit, Mr. Smith,” Missy Gin called. “You finish your eating an I’ll leave you here Yesterday. You might eat, maybe, but there ain’t a drop of life-water in miles of here, an after you drunk one drop, you cain’t never stop drinking it, am I right? So you’ll be craving for it, just get thirstier an thirstier, am I right? You won’t even make it long enough for Tomorrow Syndrome, that thirst’ll do you till you only wisht you could make a die of it. So you let them girls be an get back in your ship an come with me, or you won’t have no ship to get back into, you hear?”
    Mr. Smith looked at her long. Then he grinned, teeth stained red in between.
    “Well, girly, you’ve calculated it pretty well, haven’t you, that about the life-water. Seen others like me? Or maybe — maybe you’ve taken a sip as well?”
    Missy Gin frowned. “I’ve been Sky Club all my life, Mr. Smith, I ain’t got need to outlive my ship. I’ll die when it’s proper an not after. But I’m waiting on your answer.”
    Mr. Smith watched her for a bit, those blue, blue eyes steady on hers. Then he said, “Well, I reckon I’ll follow you back. I’ll finish my meal later.”
    Like hell you will, Missy Gin thought, but didn’t say, only watched him board his ship. Only once he’d clumb up the ladder an unmoored did she relax, looking round for the girls. They had already vamoosed.
    Well, they’d live. She went on back to the Tonic , clambered up the anchor-chain, then flipped the capstan’s automation. Anchor up, she turned the panners on full blast an swung the wheel round.
    “ I am Missy Gin,” she growled to her ship. “I am Missy Gin, an I am tired-sick of sin. Mr. Smith, you try that agin, you ain’t got nothing I can’t take away, you fly up behind me an leave them girls today. You might drink life-water but you ain’t forever, I’m twice as man as you, an four times as clever! I’ll drop you on a Silver Mountain, drop you in the sea, you shoulda been a pianist, since you can’t match up to me! You’re ornery an mean, but you ain’t never seen a thing as quick an keen as me, as Missy Gin!”
    The Tonic caught her mood an dove up, flying fierce an furious before the wind. Missy Gin had to check her panners an turn them down again so as Mr. Smith’s small, sputtering hydrogenium craft could keep up. He’d let out a tolerable amount of the gas to land, an so right now he was hanging heavy in the sky, eating fuel at a crazy rate, rotors full-on an swiveled to motor him forward, all his ballast gone.
    Which was good, for once they reached out of Yesterday, Missy Gin intended to set the law on him. Where there’s no here-an-ago, there’s no law but what might be made, so Sky Clubs an others had to be the law however they saw fit. Missy Gin had seen enough to know certain that Mr. Smith could do with the rest of his life on a Silver Mountain. Once there, he could drink all the life-water he pleased, an it would do him no help — Silver Mountains changed your body in sick, fast mutations, that life-water climbing in your veins an working into your bones. Now, judging from his fingers, Mr. Smith already had life-water in his veins, but a Silver Mountain’d make sure he couldn’t