Trust Fully

 The town of Steam Haven rose from the fog like a cathedral of brass, its spires coughing smoke into a copper-stained sky as gears turned and pistons sighed beneath the streets. Here, the air smelled of coal and ambition, and every ticking clock carried the promise of invention. Iron bridges arched over slow-flowing canals, automatons clanked through crowded alleys, and the constant hum of machinery was as familiar as a heartbeat. High in the sky, wooden galleon ships, suspended below their envelopes by thick steel cables, chugged effortlessly, leaving a trail of steam from their boilers.

Amara sat at her workbench listening to the sound of the workshop as it breathed. Pistons sighed, flywheels murmured, and copper pipes carried warmth through the brick walls like veins. The steam release valves released the extra steam like great sighs from a content giant. In the depths of the workshop, however, discontent  crept into the boiler in the basement causing it to thump with an uneven rhythm, and every few seconds a pressure gauge twitched in a way that made Amara’s mentor purse his mustache.

“There’s an obstruction,” Professor Thistledown said, peering down the metal ladder that descended into steam and shadows. “Scale or slag. It has to be cleared from inside.”

Amara’s heart lifted and sank at once. Inside meant sealed suits, air lines, and heat that pressed close like a living force. It also meant trust—trust that she was ready.

“I can do it,” she said, absently straightening her goggles on her hat.

Thistledown studied her for a moment, then nodded. “You won’t be alone.”

The automaton was already waiting at the basement door: a tall brass figure with jointed limbs and a glass-eyed head that ticked softly as it turned. Its nameplate read “EIDOLON-3”, though everyone just called it, “IDEL.” It carried tools in its chest cavity and spoke in a calm, precise voice.

Amara sealed herself into the suit, leather and rubber snug around her arms and legs. The helmet clamped shut with a hiss, and cool air began flowing through the line attached to her shoulder.

“Air supply active,” IDEL said. “Initial purity within acceptable parameters.”

“Good,” Amara replied, trying to sound confident. She climbed down the ladder, steam curling around her boots, and approached the boiler’s access hatch. The metal was hot even through her gloves.

Inside the boiler, the world shrank to curved iron walls and the echo of her own breathing. She crawled forward, her lamp cutting a small circle of light. The obstruction was visible ahead: a crusted mass lodged in a narrow channel.

IDEL remained at the hatch, its head tilted. “Apprentice Amara,” it said, “air purity has decreased by 0.7 percent; it may indicate contamination.”

Amara paused. “That’s still fine, right?”

“It is acceptable,” IDEL replied. “However, continued decrease may indicate increased contamination.”

She shook off the unease and set to work, chipping carefully at the blockage. Flakes fell away, clinking against the metal floor.

“Air purity has decreased by 1.2 percent,” IDEL said.

Amara’s breathing quickened without her realizing it. The suit felt tighter. The boiler’s curved walls seemed closer than before.

“It’s just heat,” she muttered. “And nerves.”

“Elevated respiration detected,” IDEL observed, “this may further degrade air quality.”

That did it. Amara’s thoughts began to race, each one tripping over the next. What if the line was cracked? What if the numbers kept dropping? The air tasted the same, but she couldn’t be sure—could she even trust her senses inside the helmet? Could she trust the air supply?

“Air purity approaching lower safety threshold,” IDEL said.

A wave of dizziness washed over her. The lamp wobbled in her hand, and she had to brace herself against the boiler wall. The sound of her own breath grew loud and ragged in her ears. What if the air supply had somehow become contaminated as IDEL was inferring?

“I need—” she started, but the words tangled. The light dimmed at the edges of her vision.

Then another light cut through the boiler, brighter and steadier.

“Amara!” Professor Thistledown’s voice came through the helmet, firm and close by. He was there with her, his larger suit gleaming, movements precise in the cramped space.

He didn’t waste time on explanations. With calm efficiency, he reached for the coupling at her shoulder and detached her air line. For a terrifying heartbeat, there was nothing—then he snapped an extension his own line into her coupling.

“Breathe with me,” he said. “Slowly.”

She did. The dizziness eased, the world settling back into focus. Thistledown’s eyes met hers through the glass, steady as an anchor.

“IDEL,” he called, “report.”

“Air purity stabilized,” the automaton replied. “Previous readings were likely influenced by the apprentice Amara’s increased respiration.”

Thistledown huffed a dry laugh. “Machines are literal creatures, Amara. They report numbers, not feelings.”

She nodded, embarrassed and relieved all at once. Together, they finished clearing the obstruction, working in quiet coordination. When they backed out of the boiler, Amara noticed her air hose laying on the floor, swaying side to side as fresh air hissed out. She picked up the hose and looked at it momentarily then backed on out and into the open basement air, Amara felt like she’d surfaced from deep water.

Back upstairs, suits discarded, the workshop’s familiar sounds welcomed her home.

“You did well,” Thistledown said, placing a sooty hand on her shoulder. “Panic is a powerful engine. Learning to slow it—that’s part of the craft. You started to distrust the air source and your mind triggered the panic even though the air source was still fine. Seeing me hook up my air source to you calmed your mind and you were able to breathe again.”

Amara glanced down at the basement stairs, then at IDEL, who stood silently nearby.

“So, there never was anything wrong with the air source,” Amara stated flatly, shaking her head.

IDEL’s glass eyes flickered, but it said nothing.

Thistledown looked at Amara, with a slight smirk on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes.

“Come sit down, Amara. You know I can’t pass up a teaching moment.”

Amara sat at her workbench with brass and copper cogs spread out around her current project. The professor pulled a stool over and sat next to her.

“You know, your little adventure today reminds me of what happened in the Garden of Eden,” he said as he stroked his goatee. “When Eve ventured off to the tree, she started listening to the serpent. Just as you started listening to IDEL. And as Eve, listened she became more distrustful of her lifeline, which was God. For you, it was the air hose. Then, after she ate the fruit, she lost all trust in her lifeline and what followed was panic and fear. Just like you were convinced, after listening to IDEL, that the air line was bad. The lifeline for Eve, however, was still there and it was still good, but the information that she got from the serpent, made her distrust and fear climb to the point that it severed her ability to take in the life it offered. That fear and distrust, was then passed down through all the subsequent generations. Then Jesus came and hooked up His lifeline. Please don’t look so shocked. I am not comparing myself to Jesus. The supply was still the same lifeline from God, just as the air from my supply hose was from the same air that you were getting. Jesus was able to work with the people one on one to show them that they could trust the lifeline again and not be afraid. By doing so, He offers us a safe place where we can live and trust without fear.”

Amara looked at the professor thoughtfully, "I see what you are saying," she said.  Glancing around the workshop with all its gears and cogs moving in unison with the soft beat of released steam, she realized how safe and secure she felt when she could leave God in control.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear; but of power and of love and of sound mind.”

2 Timothy 1:7