Tevun-Krus #3 - SteamPunk

Smith & Jones

Here at Tevun Krus, we are proud to announce the first installment of Smith and Jones-- a TK exclusive. Each month, along with the specific sub-genre of sorts, we will have a short starring--you guessed it-- Smith and Jones. Follow their adventures as they tackle the world of punks, operas, the end of the world, and what is sure to be a host of aliens. This month's installment is brought to you by none other than SciFi master, Angus Ecrivain. 

"You Sir, will wish you had not done that," said Smith. John Wesley Smith, to be precise. "Now roll up your shirt sleeves so that fisticuffs might ensue."

"Queensbury Rules, John?"

"Of course man. Do you take me for a Neanderthal?"

"No John, not at all," the other man muttered as he proceeded to remove his cufflinks. "It's just that, well you appear to be holding forth some sort of firearm."

Confused, John Wesley Smith averted his gaze from the man who had offended him and glanced at his fists, bunched as they were around chest height. Sure enough, he did appear to be grasping the butt of an extremely odd looking gun in his right hand. If he was forced to guess he would've said that it was made of copper although closer inspection of the firing mechanism would later reveal that was built of a rather strong alloy. It was apparent to Smith that it was no ordinary gun, least not for the fact it had what could only be described as a dish roughly two thirds along the barrel.

With his free hand, Smith scratched his head in the manner one does when one is incredibly befuddled. Said befuddlement was compounded all the more when he happened to raise his eyes to Jones, he who had caused offence.

"Were you wearing braces before, Jones?" he asked. "Only I do not remember seeing black straps over the white of your shirt a moment ago. Now I will freely admit I do not have an eidetic memory, however the stark contrast of black on white is one I am most certain would not have slipped from my mind."

"I'm not wearing braces, John." Jones replied, glancing from one shoulder to the other. "However I will concede these straps are rather reminiscent of those belonging to my Sunday braces."

Jones glanced once again at his left shoulder. He had caught sight of something strange out of the corner of his eye and as he was suddenly aware of an unfamiliar weight upon his back, the thought it best to investigate further.

"There is something upon my back, John," Jones said with a tinge of terror to his voice. He circled as a dog chasing its tail, trying vainly to get a better look that he might ascertain the nature of the offending item.

"I can see that, Jones," Smith replied. "Now please, stop running around like a headless chicken and I might be able to tell you what it is. Perhaps then we could see our way to fight like gentlemen. I would rather like to get back to drinking, if it is all the same to you."

At that very moment something dropped out of the sky. Well, someone would be more accurate. Neither Smith nor Jones moved a muscle though. The someone was clad entirely in leather which did little to hide the fact she had rather large breasts and an incredibly pert bottom. She wore some sort of helmet, too, which meant that neither man could see her face until she removed said head gear to reveal a beauty that radiated from her. Add the fact she was a red head wearing a pair of thin, curved spectacles the like of which Smith and Jones had never seen, and it should come as little surprise that both men sensed saliva pooling at the corners of their respective facial orifices.

"Eyes back in your heads, boys," she said, her voice incredibly soft and comely. "Y'all never seen a red head fall from the sky?"

"Erm..." Smith replied, locating his vocal chords after a fashion. "No... It is not something one expects to see."

"Damn, you English boys. Your accents get me all moist where it matters." She smiled as their faces flushed with colour until both blushed the most vibrant of reds. "Anyways, I figure you've probably noticed there's some pretty odd stuff occurring."

"Well yes," said Jones. "There is something upon my back and Smith is grasping a... gun?"

"A raygun," she replied with nothing more than a cursory glance. "And that on your back is a steam-powered jetpack."

"A what?"

She did not answer directly, although she did answer. "Look around you, boys. Don't things seem a little different to how they were before you went into that Inn? Check the sky, look at the airships. You see them, right? Now glance along the street. Weren't there horses and carts here before, instead of the steambikes and steamcars?"

"What in the name of all that is holy is going on?" Smith demanded of the red head. "It must be your doing, harlot!"

"If y'all want to get all technical then yeah, it's my doing. Not on purpose though. I mean, who'd have thought that attempting to harness the power of a dying star and using it to boost the power of a subspace communication network spanning several thousand galaxies would result in you two chaps finding yourselves trapped in a Sci-Fi loop?"

"Pardon?" Smith and Jones asked together.

"I know, I know. It sounds like the premise from a bad kids TV show but it's true. Y'all are currently in the Steam Punk phase of the loop. Any minute now there'll be a flash of light and the three of us will find ourselves knee deep in a different sub-genre."

"Pardon? Are you a madwoman?"

"It's far too hard to explain. Guess it's gonna' be easier when it actually..."

...and then, there was a blinding flash of light.

Tune in next month for more Smith and Jones!