Timothy's Garage

      "You got the parts?"

      "Yea I grabbed them on my way home from work."

      "You mean you grabbed them from work?"

      "Yea, Mr. Buford knows one of the steam-bike repair shops in town really well, so he got these cheap."

      "Perfect."

      Timothy and his wife, Mesi, looked at their workmanship. The engine was nearly completely converted into a bike. It was their hobby, fixing up and making steam-bikes. It was, in fact, one of the reasons Buford hired him to build his automatons.

      The last pieces, a few clamps and a cushion for the seat were tightened down into place.

      "Go for a test ride?" he asked.

      "How could we not?" she said, pulling her poofy hair back into a ponytail.

      They filled the tank with water, sealed it up, and kicked on the boiler.

      They sipped on Sky-Whale Ale, watching the engine warmed up.

      Suddenly, the engine stopped.

      "Come on," Timothy said, kicking the tank a bit."

      They inspected it a little, tried to start the engine once more.

      Nothing.

      They stared at it, drinking their ale.

      "Oh!" Mesi exclaimed and ran off into the house.

      "Where are you going!"

      She shouted from inside, "Hold on!"

      She came back with a belt, wrapped it around one of the pipes and sat on the ground, with her feet on the bike's frame.

      "Hold it steady, love," she ordered.

      So he leaned over and braced himself against the other side.

      They pushed, while she cinched the belt. Timothy started up the engine and it whistled and whirred beautifully.

      "Wonderful," she said, dusting off her overalls.

      That night they drove up and down old town and over by the industrial zone until the coal burnt and water ran low.