Steam Girl

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James Clarkson took the opportunity to walk back to his office in The Market Street Journal building. It was affectionately called the Buttons Building because at one time, long before The Founding, it had been devoted to selling anything to do with sewing. Now it served as the headquarters to two newspapers—Clarkson's and The Chronicle—and a magazine called Popular Mechanics. Both the magazine and The Market Street Journal had grown with their success and desperately needed the entire building, but its rich history and central downtown location made it too valuable to move. Space was at a premium within its vaunted walls and had long ago spilled over into its hallways. Clarkson's editor had been trying for years to get The Chronicle to admit defeat and fold or move on. It was a paper created for the son of a prominent San Francisco family. The son was not particularly bright and his paper was truly nothing more than a mouthpiece for the city's finest families. Though it had hardly any readers, it would last as long as the family was willing to subsidize their son's wish to play newspaperman. It must have cost a fortune, but the Zhangs had at least four or five extra fortunes lying around.

Clarkson was thinking about how tired he was of sharing an office and two desks with three other reporters. He was proud of how well he'd done in the newspaper business. At any other paper he would have had an office of his own and a secretary. If he were willing to work for the Oakland Times, he could have had all that and more. But the Oakland Times was about as establishment a paper as they came, moving bundles of print a day. There was only one thing stopping Clarkson from jumping to the Times—he knew in his heart he'd never be the reporter he wanted to be if he worked there.

The sound of approaching footsteps on the cobblestone street momentarily interrupted his thoughts. Clarkson had made enough enemies that he paused and listened. Even though the fog was too thick to see clearly, he knew from the echoing sound that whoever was out there was not in a hurry, wearing shoes, not boots and using a walking stick. Clarkson relaxed, but only a little. When the figure approached, fog swirling about him, Clarkson gave a half smile.

"Good evening, Mr. Under-Secretary. What a coincidence meeting you here," said Clarkson, sounding not at all convincing.

Xavier Sipher smiled bemusedly. "Mr. Clarkson, how nice to see you. I was just heading to Market Street."

"I'm afraid you're going in the wrong direction, sir."

Xavier's left eyebrow arched upwards. "Am I? Damnable fog. We may as well be living in London. Mind if I tag along?"

"Of course not, Mr. Under-Secretary." They resumed walking towards Market Street.

"Please, we've been through this already—just Xavier. You make me sound far more important than I am."

"Under-Secretary is a pretty important job in my book."

"Perhaps it is, Mr. Clarkson but all I really do is make sure that the more mundane operations of the Council go smoothly."

James Clarkson smiled to himself. Of all his contacts in the government of the Bay Area Confederation, the best by far was Xavier Sipher, even if the man never came out and told him anything directly. Their contacts always came in the form of accidental meetings and seemingly random and pleasant conversations. But they almost always led to something, usually Clarkson's ever-growing notoriety and unpopularity with the powerful. In the long run, however, they inevitably aided the interests of the Bay Area Confederation. It was a pleasant conversation from Sipher

that had lead Clarkson to the Helium ring being run by a cabal in the Ministry of Transport. After the indictments, the price of helium dropped 30% and international trade boomed. It was another conversation that led Clarkson to discover a Stakeholder who was selling military secrets, for a share of the profits, to a group of pirates operating out of Puget Sound. James Clarkson had been present as the man had been catapulted off the Golden Gate Bridge. Clarkson couldn't help but wonder what this 'accidental' meeting would lead to. He didn't have to wait long.

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