Dust to Dust: Man 10

Steamy Night

Pile, now in his construction body, took stock of what he had access to on the sled. The large tank of crude oil was full and undamaged, although it looked like someone had siphoned some off at the caravan. The construction body itself sustained minor damage, a few mangled arms, but nothing that would impede its function.

Ah, the pelts. Looks like I'll have a use for them here. Travis was starting to shiver a bit through all of his bravado, and the caster is wearing something strange underneath her blue robe. Doesn't seem to cover much, maybe it's ceremonial? Too thin and doesn't cover enough to be armor. Maybe it's enchanted.

The construction body's small sensory hub, a small metal ball with silver filigree mimicking eyes, was pointed directly at Bryn's opened robe. After a shocked gasp, she quickly pulled it tightly closed.

“I'm a mage,” she protested. “Armor wouldn't- doesn't help much. It's normal. It's what the guild recommends.” Her cheeks slightly reddened, and not from the wintry air. “Why am I explaining myself to a golem...”

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Pile noticed how tightly she was pulling her robe shut now.

Must be cold.

One of his many crafting arms latched onto the bundle of pelts and threw it her way. The golem returned to his work, completely oblivious to her giddy expression as she unrolled the pelts.

Just have to cook meat. Saw humans in the camp doing it, should be easy. Just need fire.

A small amount of oil was siphoned into a metal cup used for measuring on one of his appendages. Pile forced a pulse of heat through the silver wire running through the appendage, causing it to thin out and slightly lengthen so that it was touching the oil in the container. The next pulse was stronger, shorter, and much sharper, causing the end of the silver to glow cherry red, setting the oil alight. The crude petroleum belched black smoke as the weak flames barely licked above the edge of the cup.

“That's revolting,” spat Bryn, now bundled inside the pelts of wolves, foxes, and rabbits. “I won't have anything I eat roasted in that filth. I had assumed your particular golem magic involved fire but...” she gazed helplessly at the dirty flame. “I suppose not. None of the wet and cold wood around us will burn either. Work something out or I'll tear you out of that sled and bury you in the snow.”

As pathetic as the flames were, the heat fed into Pile's silver vein and gave his core the first warmth it had felt since being frozen. The smaller cracks in his silver core caused by the massive temperature shift in the last fight began to slowly weld back together. Despite the first signs of his recovery, Pile felt a strange feeling of dissonance while staring at the weak flame dancing upon the back liquid. He had used this oil as a power source before, and it felt much stronger.

Thinking back, oil isn't so simple. When I was working in the cave, working with the information Blue Box gave me, I heated the oil and scraped the bottom to gather the beginnings of plastic. Inert plastic. If I removed something nonreactive, then the rest must be more reactive. Maybe. Possibly there are more materials besides oil and the plastic? Blue Box's uselessly garbled information is once again causing me trouble. Damn Blue Box.

The construction body's sensory hub stared intently into the flame, its argent eyes reflecting the flickering yellow light. Even on a fixed metal face, the concentration was apparent.

“Hey golem.”

Pile withdrew from his memories, holding the base concept of what had to be done. It would take more time than he currently had, but he had a plan.

“Golem,” repeated Bryn as she approached the sled, her pelts dragging a smooth trail in the snow behind her. “Here's the deal. Travis is-er, was, one of best hunters in camp. He's going to return any minute with a brace of meat and an empty stomach. Your best impression of a fire is too nasty and too weak to roast anything and I can't imagine boiled hare will go down well. You're a metalworker, right?”

Pile bobbed his sensory hub to the affirmative.

“Then make me this,” she began, as she pointed at the ground and began to wave her pointer finger around.

Pile followed her gaze down to the snow, where her magic was tracing an icy blue diagram into the white powder.

A cup? No, a cup inside another cup. With holes?

“It's a steamer. Doesn't matter how crappy your fire is if we don't directly use it. Just give me what I drew here. Two pieces, one with holes that fits on top of the larger one. And make a hanger for them so that-” she continued with her arctic artistry in the snow “-we can hang them on a tripod like this. Make me the tripod too. Oh, and something to put the oil fire in below all of this.” She continued to trace the snow, adding extra details, sharper details, and small embellishments to the work. After a minute more of additional detailing, Bryn noticed how carried away she'd gotten and once again turned away with reddened cheeks. “Just have it ready by the time he gets back,” was her final command.

The general concept was familiar to Pile, steam power was something he'd considered before tossing the idea due to the perilous nature of highly compressed boiling steam. The construction body gathered the heat from the oil, picked up choice metal scraps, and began to meld them into his task-master's design.

An hour later, a tired yet content ranger found his way back to the campsite, followed by a she-wolf with bloodied jaws and a satisfied expression. The sight of a weak and sooty burning fire caused Travis' expression to drop, but the gleaming pot hanging over it throwing off steam brightened it right back up. He approached the fire showing off his brace of skinned and gutted hares, and Bryn welcomed him by opening the cooker and returning his gentle smile.

It was going to be a steamy night. Of cooking.