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Lucy Morgan felt certain that her father didn't want to take her to the factory so late. But, Miles, a hefty man, scratched his beard when she asked and gave her a shrug. As he had told her plenty of times, the owner of Morgan's Mechanicals and Morgan's Automatons appreciated his daughter’s interest in his companies, as well as the burgeoning technology.
The hooves of their horses went from clomping on the dirt road to clicking on the basalt road that led to an enormous, two-story building. The front wall, two hundred yards wide, loomed in front of them. Lucy figured her father knew the exact dimensions. He made a point of knowing things like that. He credited his success with his desire for such exactitude.
They approached a long hitching post with a dozen water troughs. Oaks lined the space between the post and the wall to provide shade for the horses during the day when the men who worked for Morgan hitched their steeds.
Two huge doors like one might find on a barn loomed to their right, with an ordinary-sized door to the side. They dismounted, Miles grunting as he climbed down. Lucy swung a leg over and dropped easily to the grass. Both hitched their horses. The night smelled of earth and leaves.
Lucy adjusted her pants—much better to ride in than a dress—and strode to the door.
"I can't believe you talked me into this." Miles chuckled and pulled a key ring from his pocket, the chain attached to his belt jingling. "Lucy, do you mind shining a light my way?"
She opened her saddlebag, removed a long metal cylinder, and pushed a lever on its side. Light shined from one end of the mechanical torch. Though bright, her father didn't complain as she pointed the beam at his hand. The Colt and key ring on his hip flashed under the light.
Miles found the right key in a moment, unlocked the door, and pulled it open. "The things I do for you."
"If you'd just brought the specifications home, you could have shown me there, Dad." Lucy walked in behind him and pointed the mechanical torch toward the flight of stairs leading to her father's office. His desk here at the Morgan's Automatons factory had a low wall and overlooked the factory. This was just one of his offices. His primary office occupied a large section of the second floor in another building.
The factory floor filled most of the building to their right. Lucy knew this area well, as Miles had been taking her to work with him for about four years now, since 1873. Shortly after Lucy turned fourteen, Miles hired a genius inventor named Anna Lynn Boyd. Anna lived with them for several years, fine-tuning the use of the luminiferous ether and designing the first brain circuits for automatons.
Lucy bit her lower lip as she thought about Anna. They'd become good friends, but Lucy still harbored a crush on the woman.
Even in the darkness, Lucy pictured the factory in her mind's eye. Auto sapient arms and legs hung in racks from floor to ceiling. An ascender helped the workers retrieve the high-up items safely. Two assembly lines ran parallel to the front wall, facing neat stacks of wooden boxes. Another tall row of crates sat between Miles and Lucy and the rest of the factory floor.
There should have been silence, but whispers came from within the building. A light winked out between the crates.
Miles put the keys in his pocket and took his first step toward that overhead office. It appeared to Lucy that he hadn't noticed the whispers. Like many older people, Miles suffered from diminished hearing. She grabbed his hand, then passed him the mechanical torch. She stepped to where the stacks of wooden crates reached her chest level, bent forward, and tried to look between them. Silence returned, and she spotted no lights.
"What are you doing, Lucy?"
She turned to shush her father, but he wasn't looking at her. Instead, he stepped to the door and slammed up the fist-sized light lever.
Fear flooded her nerves, and she rushed toward him. "There's someone in the factory!" she whispered harshly.
She gripped her father's left arm, turned, and crawled back along the row of boxes. Nobody could enter the factory without authorization. Who knew what they might take? What they might sabotage?
She peeked around and saw the light of a mechanical torch bouncing toward her.
From behind, her father cocked his gun. His voice, barely audible, whispered, "Lucy, we have to get out!"
Of course. Nothing was more valuable than life, not the inventions here, not the steely parts. The company kept secrets that, were they to become known, might cause unknown damage, something to do with Bodacious Creed and his resurrection. Might someone find those here, or did the company keep them locked away elsewhere? Though Miles allowed Lucy to look at many of the company's designs, he kept some things even from her.
"Lucy!" came his harsh whisper.
The light switched off. Lucy sprang up and dashed toward Miles.
Two shots were fired, with the second whisking past Lucy’s head. Miles opened the door and moonlight led her outside. Father and daughter stepped out, and Miles lifted his gun, his right hand shaking.
"Get out of there! Get out now!" came a voice from the other end of the factory.
Lucy fumbled with the mechanical torch. She switched it on and aimed it toward the far side of the building. The light barely reached, but she saw three human forms, two rushing out of the far door. The Morgans had missed it on their approach, but the thieves were rushing for a cart ten yards from their position.
Miles stood breathing hard, a heavyset, deceptively muscular man. Lucy sensed his power now, and the waver left his hand when he pointed the pistol at the outlaws.
He fired four of the six bullets in the gun. Lucy winced at the loud reports but kept the light trained on the figures.
The strangers had reached the cart. Moments later, a voice shouted "Yah!" and the horses galloped off, pulling a cart that bounced on the basalt and, in moments, vanished from view.
Miles turned and embraced his daughter.
Lucy stood, stunned. She felt his heart pounding like a bass drum in his barrel chest. "Dad, they're getting away!"
"Right." Miles put away his gun and locked the door. He unhitched the horses while Lucy continued to stare into the distance.
"Lucy, come on. To the other side. We're locking that door, too, and we need to report this to the marshals. I recognized that voice. Their lookout works for me."
"Oh," Lucy said. "Dad, I just wanted to learn how the steely cooking skills work."
"Well, now you get to see how the law works."
Minutes later, they headed down Cabrillo Highway toward the center of Santa Cruz.