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Steel Frame

Andrew Skinner
Chapters (41)
  1. Title
  2. Indicia
  3. Steel Frame
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-One
  25. Twenty-Two
  26. Twenty-Three
  27. Twenty-Four
  28. Twenty-Five
  29. Twenty-Six
  30. Twenty-Seven
  31. Twenty-Eight
  32. Twenty-Nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-One
  35. Thirty-Two
  36. Thirty-Three
  37. Acknowledgements
  38. About The Author
  39. 'Ironclads' by Adrian Tchaikovsky
  40. 'NineFox Gambit' by Yoon Ha Lee
  41. 'Grunt Life' by Weston Ochse
cover

Title

STEEL FRAME

Andrew Skinner

Indicia

First published 2019 by Solaris

an imprint of Rebellion Publishing Ltd,

Riverside House, Osney Mead,

Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK

SOLARIS

ISBN: 978-1-78618-228-9

Copyright © 2019 Andrew Skinner

The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners.

Steel Frame

STEEL FRAME

One

HELMET IMAGE

ONE

THE AIR IS heavy with sweat and moist with shipboard rot, mixed so thick that I’m starting to think I’d rather choke than keep on breathing. Hell, there are times I think I might try it just for the change of pace.

The clammy atmosphere settles slick across my skin, presses in on my eyes and ears like I’m halfway drowned already. It dulls my hearing until all I have left is the heartbeat-throb in my temples, and the deep echoes the air seems to carry all on its own. The ringing of our chains and the rumbling press of our bootsoles on the deck. The tremors match a marching count, just like everything else down here.

In this place, the march is all that matters, and there’s nothing we could do to challenge it that wouldn’t cost us blood or broken bones. We could try to hold our ground, maybe shake the order if we were brave or stupid enough, but the shackles will always hold it better.

And the chain gang does the rest.

It’s a beast built on all of our worst impulses, running on fear and fists and clawing fingers. It’s a warden’s work done by prisoners, and it’ll beat the fight out of you every day. You can resist, of course, but the gang will chew you up, break anything that will not bend, and fight itself ragged over what’s left. The best choice is to comply, but you have to abandon any hope of making it out the way you arrived. Worse, you have to join in. The rules are simple, but they only work if everyone pulls their weight, and once you understand that—once you know your place among the cogs and grindwheels—you become part of the machine.

We understand. I understand. I’ve been part of a machine before. I hold the beat because I know better than to try anything else.