Chapter One
The Kansas City Convention Center was bursting with activity. The Steampunk Ball had been publicized all over the Midwest and tonight was considered the big event. “I can’t believe I’m getting paid to attend this freak show.” Tripp handed his invitation to the costumed employee at the door.
“Just take your famous pictures.” The short, stubby man next to him didn’t bother with his invite. He flashed a press pass instead. “Professor Greggor may be totally off his rocker, but the magazine wants an exclusive.”
They walked into a large room filled with people in goggles and bad Victorian costumes. A large zeppelin hung from the ceiling and train tracks were painted on the floor. A distorted Wild West show took place on one stage while some sort of gadgetry contest took place on another.
Tripp adjusted his digital camera lens and tried to take a shot of a woman with a mechanical parrot on her shoulder when something was shoved into his lower back. “Mister, I wouldn’t use that in here if I were you. I might get trigger happy.”
Turning around, Tripp came face-to-face with an older man wearing safari gear and a monocle. The object he had thought was the barrel of a gun was really a long brass telescope. “Are you the famous Professor Greggor?”
“One and the same.” The professor nodded at his high-tech camera equipment. “Are you the photographer from Scientific Inquiries Magazine?”
“Yes, he’s one of our best.” Tripp’s overanxious colleague appeared out of nowhere. “And I’m Bill Batson, the reporter. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Well, I’m thrilled to finally receive some real attention from the scientific community. Most people think I’m a bit of a quack that throws a great party.” He waved the telescope around in grand gesture. “But what I tried to say to your photographer,” he turned back to Tripp and pointed at the digital around his neck, “is I’d rather he used something more fitting with the Steampunk Ball.”
“The name’s Tripp Monroe, and what do you have in mind?”
“I’ve got a Brownie in my personal collection. Would you like to give it a try?”
Bill Batson took a quick note and jumped into the conversation for the second time. “Is your private collection here tonight?”
“Of course.” The professor motioned for both men to follow him. “It’s on display in one of the side rooms.”
Tripp watched as Bill hurried alongside the old man and asked incessant silly questions. A working box camera might be interesting to see, he thought, as he set a more comfortable pace. And to use it for the magazine photos would be a story in itself .
The three men entered one of the conference center’s meeting rooms. A piece of fake parchment paper hung on the door, announcing that this was an invitation only area. “Gentlemen, what you see in the ballroom is loosely based on my findings. What you see in here, these are replicas of the real thing.”
The room was cluttered with antique items that had been modified with extra gadgets and springs. A large hand drawn map was draped over a table in the center. “And is this the parallel universe you visited?” Bill was already scribbling in his notepad before the professor replied.
“That is Westland.” Professor Greggor smiled with pride. “It’s all very interesting. You see, in their timeline, the civil war ended without a winner. Money, loss of lives, deterioration of the land, it all amounted to a stalemate. The North ended up walking away. The South became a crippled country in its own right. And the West, they took the opportunity to pull away from both sides and form a monarchy.” He handed Tripp the box camera and pointed to the map. “Take a picture, son. The place is real. I was there.”
Tripp cleaned off the double lens and turned the lever on the side. He listened as the professor continued explaining the relevance of Westland’s alternate history. This guy is certifiable
The Kansas City Convention Center was bursting with activity. The Steampunk Ball had been publicized all over the Midwest and tonight was considered the big event. “I can’t believe I’m getting paid to attend this freak show.” Tripp handed his invitation to the costumed employee at the door.
“Just take your famous pictures.” The short, stubby man next to him didn’t bother with his invite. He flashed a press pass instead. “Professor Greggor may be totally off his rocker, but the magazine wants an exclusive.”
They walked into a large room filled with people in goggles and bad Victorian costumes. A large zeppelin hung from the ceiling and train tracks were painted on the floor. A distorted Wild West show took place on one stage while some sort of gadgetry contest took place on another.
Tripp adjusted his digital camera lens and tried to take a shot of a woman with a mechanical parrot on her shoulder when something was shoved into his lower back. “Mister, I wouldn’t use that in here if I were you. I might get trigger happy.”
Turning around, Tripp came face-to-face with an older man wearing safari gear and a monocle. The object he had thought was the barrel of a gun was really a long brass telescope. “Are you the famous Professor Greggor?”
“One and the same.” The professor nodded at his high-tech camera equipment. “Are you the photographer from Scientific Inquiries Magazine?”
“Yes, he’s one of our best.” Tripp’s overanxious colleague appeared out of nowhere. “And I’m Bill Batson, the reporter. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Well, I’m thrilled to finally receive some real attention from the scientific community. Most people think I’m a bit of a quack that throws a great party.” He waved the telescope around in grand gesture. “But what I tried to say to your photographer,” he turned back to Tripp and pointed at the digital around his neck, “is I’d rather he used something more fitting with the Steampunk Ball.”
“The name’s Tripp Monroe, and what do you have in mind?”
“I’ve got a Brownie in my personal collection. Would you like to give it a try?”
Bill Batson took a quick note and jumped into the conversation for the second time. “Is your private collection here tonight?”
“Of course.” The professor motioned for both men to follow him. “It’s on display in one of the side rooms.”
Tripp watched as Bill hurried alongside the old man and asked incessant silly questions. A working box camera might be interesting to see, he thought, as he set a more comfortable pace. And to use it for the magazine photos would be a story in itself .
The three men entered one of the conference center’s meeting rooms. A piece of fake parchment paper hung on the door, announcing that this was an invitation only area. “Gentlemen, what you see in the ballroom is loosely based on my findings. What you see in here, these are replicas of the real thing.”
The room was cluttered with antique items that had been modified with extra gadgets and springs. A large hand drawn map was draped over a table in the center. “And is this the parallel universe you visited?” Bill was already scribbling in his notepad before the professor replied.
“That is Westland.” Professor Greggor smiled with pride. “It’s all very interesting. You see, in their timeline, the civil war ended without a winner. Money, loss of lives, deterioration of the land, it all amounted to a stalemate. The North ended up walking away. The South became a crippled country in its own right. And the West, they took the opportunity to pull away from both sides and form a monarchy.” He handed Tripp the box camera and pointed to the map. “Take a picture, son. The place is real. I was there.”
Tripp cleaned off the double lens and turned the lever on the side. He listened as the professor continued explaining the relevance of Westland’s alternate history. This guy is certifiable
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