A parallel 1920s Prague where steam technology defeated electricity, creating a retrofuture of brass, gears, and alternate history.
📍 Destination: Prague, Earth-45 (Eternal Steam Timeline), Parallel Dimension 📅 Divergence Point: 1867 — Faraday's electromagnetic experiments fail; Tesla never born ⏱️ Duration: 6 days (subjective time matches home dimension) 💰 Budget: 220-300 GC (dimensional passage, accommodation, steam transit permits, pressure suit rental, conversion insurance) ⚠️ Risk: ★★★☆☆ (dimensional slippage, pressure accidents, mild existential dread, excellent coffee temptation) 🎒 Essential: Dimensional anchor (mandatory), pressure-rated clothing, brass currency, tolerance for constant mechanical noise, acceptance that "better" is subjective
In another dimension, I'm probably an accountant.
Not jumping between parallel realities, not standing in a Prague where electricity lost the industrial revolution to pressurized steam, not watching brass-fitted trams run on pure thermodynamics while I question my life choices. Just... balancing spreadsheets. That Dmitri is happier.
This Dmitri is inhaling coal smoke on Wenceslas Square, watching workers adjust the pressure valves on a 60-meter clockwork tower, trying to remember if his home dimension's Prague even has a clockwork tower, and wondering—not for the first time—why he keeps doing this to himself.
The answer, per my therapist in at least three dimensions: "Because you're searching for a version of Earth that makes sense."
Fair. Though I'm not sure "makes sense" applies to a timeline where humanity bet everything on steam power and somehow made it work. The physics alone shouldn't be possible. Maximum theoretical efficiency of steam engines is like 30%. This dimension is running entire cities at what looks like 60-70% efficiency, which means they've either broken thermodynamics or discovered something my home dimension's engineers missed completely.
(It's probably the second thing. It's always the second thing. Every dimension I visit, I discover we fucked up differently.)
My first impression of Earth-45 Prague: loud.
Steam engines don't purr. They hiss, clank, groan, and occasionally shriek when pressure releases through safety valves. The entire city operates at a constant 70-decibel baseline. Conversation happens in slight shouts. Silence is a foreign concept.
My second impression: beautiful.
Not despite the industrial retrofitting—because of it. Whoever engineered this timeline's steam integration understood aesthetics. Copper pipes follow Art Nouveau curves around Gothic facades. Brass pressure gauges mount like jewelry on Baroque buildings. Function became ornament; ornament justified function. The whole city looks like a mechanical artwork that happens to also power civilization.
Third impression: the coffee is better here.
Not metaphorically. Not "charmingly different." Objectively superior. Prague-45's coffee culture evolved using steam-pressure extraction that wouldn't be possible with electric systems. The result tastes like what coffee dreams it could become.
I'm in trouble. When I start evaluating dimensions by coffee quality, I've been jumping too long.
Getting There (Or: How to Slip Sideways into Alternate History)
Earth-45 sits three dimensional layers from my home timeline. Not far—I've been twelve layers out—but far enough that you feel the difference immediately. Air pressure is slightly higher (steam economy requires it). Gravity feels marginally heavier (it's not; your inner ear just hasn't calibrated). Colors are subtly warmer (more particulate matter from coal burning scatters light differently).
The science gets weird. Weirder than usual.
Dimensional travel isn't teleportation; it's translation. You're moving perpendicular to regular spacetime, sliding between probability branches until you land in a timeline where different choices cascaded into different outcomes. The Dimensional Consortium controls access because it's dangerous—slippage can strand you, contamination can destabilize timelines, and meeting your alternate self creates psychological effects that make PTSD look manageable.
I've never met my Earth-45 self. According to Consortium records, Dmitri Volkov doesn't exist here. In this timeline, my great-grandparents never met. Existentially troubling? Absolutely. Practically convenient? Also yes. No risk of accidental self-encounter, no identity paradoxes, just clean tourism.
What You Need
Dimensional Anchor: Non-negotiable. It's a bracelet-sized device that tethers you to your home dimension's quantum signature. Without it, you could slip into adjacent dimensions involuntarily. With it, you're locked to Earth-45 for your stay duration and guaranteed return.
Cost: Included in passage fee, but lose it and you're buying a new one at 500 GC markup. I've lost two. Don't be me.
Conversion Insurance: Earth-45's economy uses brass coinage and paper currency backed by steam-pressure reserves. Your GC won't work. Conversion is standard at dimensional entry (1 GC ≈ 12 Korun-Steam). Insurance covers exchange rate fluctuations and protects against counterfeit detection issues.
Pressure-Rated Clothing: Atmospheric pressure here averages 108 kPa vs. standard 101 kPa. Doesn't sound like much. After three days, your sinuses disagree. Pressure-rated jackets equalize gradually, prevent headaches and ear problems. Rentable at entry point: 30 GC for your stay.
Mental Preparation: You're visiting a timeline where history pivoted 160 years ago. Everything is almost familiar but consistently wrong. Street names match your memory but lead to different buildings. Historical figures you recognize had completely different careers. It's cognitively exhausting. Prepare for constant low-level confusion.
Entry Points
The Consortium maintains stable portals in Geneva (neutral ground in most dimensions). From there, local dimensional shuttles reach Earth-45 major cities. Prague is a hub—lots of tourists, solid infrastructure, guides who understand dimensional visitors.
Travel time: About 4 subjective hours from Geneva-Home to Prague-45. You'll feel it—a sideways pulling sensation, like falling horizontally. Some people get nauseous. I get philosophical. By hour two I'm questioning whether my home dimension is the "real" one or just another branch in infinite probability.
My therapist says this is unhealthy. My therapist exists in three dimensions and has different advice in each one. I'm not sure who to listen to.
Prague's Steam Infrastructure (Or: When Engineering Becomes Poetry)
The moment you emerge in Prague-45, you notice the pipes.
Everywhere. Running along building facades, crossing streets on brass bridges, diving underground and resurfacing blocks later. The entire city is veined with copper and brass conduits carrying pressurized steam from central generation plants to every building, vehicle, and machine.
It shouldn't be beautiful. Industrial infrastructure is usually brutal and hidden. But Earth-45 engineers decided centuries ago: if we're covering our city in pipes, let's make them gorgeous.
The main steam arteries—some as wide as my torso—are works of art. Embossed with geometric patterns, fitted with polished pressure gauges that double as street markers, painted in oxidized greens and warm coppers that complement the baroque architecture. At night, when steam vents release excess pressure, the whole city glows in backlit vapor clouds.
My guide, Helena (a history professor who moonlights showing dimensional tourists around), explained: "In your timeline, electricity could hide in walls. Steam can't hide. So we celebrated it instead."
Smart. Also probably necessary to prevent riots when they covered historical buildings in pipework.
The Astronomical Clock
You know the famous Prague Astronomical Clock? Medieval masterpiece, shows astronomical dial, zodiac, moving figures?
Earth-45's version does all that—plus runs the entire Old Town Square's pressure regulation system. It's not just a clock; it's a functional steam distribution hub disguised as historical artifact. Every hour, when the figures parade, they're actually triggering pressure adjustments for surrounding buildings. Beauty serving utility serving beauty.
I watched the hourly show with maybe 200 people (mix of locals and dimensional tourists). The mechanism is hypnotic: brass gears the size of dinner plates, copper cams polished mirror-smooth, steam pistons moving with metronome precision. Zero electricity. Pure thermodynamic mastery.
An old man next to me—definitely local, had that unbothered look—noticed my staring.
"First time?" he asked in Czech. (My dimensional translator implant handles language, one of the Consortium's better inventions.)
"That obvious?"
"You're watching the mechanism. Locals watch the sky. We already know the clock works."
He wasn't wrong. I was so focused on the engineering I'd missed the point: nobody here is impressed by steam power. It's just infrastructure. Like someone from Prague-Home watching a traffic light.
Perspective matters. I keep forgetting.
The Underground
Earth-45 Prague has a metro system—sort of. Instead of electric trains, they use pressure differential transit: sealed pods that ride pneumatic tubes, propelled by carefully managed steam pressure. Fast (70 kph in the tubes), efficient (minimal friction), and absolutely terrifying the first time.
Helena insisted I try it. "You can't understand the city without going under."
So down we went—six stories below street level into what looks like Victorian-era submarine architecture. Brass bulkheads, riveted copper panels, the constant sound of steam moving through massive pipes. The station platforms are circular, arranged around tube entrances that dilate open when pods arrive.
We boarded a pod (capacity: 8 people, cramped). Doors sealed with a hiss that my nervous system interpreted as "you're trapped now." Then: acceleration. Smooth at first, then fast. The tube is dark except for passing pressure indicators—glowing amber gauges every 50 meters. No windows. No view. Just speed and the shriek of steam and the certainty that if something fails, we're dead.
Three minutes later: arrival. Doors opened. I stumbled out trying not to show I'd been terrified.
Helena smirked. "Most dimensional visitors panic. You only went pale."
"I've been through dimensional collapse. This was barely top ten."
Lie. Total lie. But dignity requires maintaining the illusion of competence.
Steam Trams
Surface transit uses tram cars that run on pressure rails—metal tracks with integrated steam channels. The trams themselves are rolling masterpieces: brass chassis, wood-paneled interiors, copper fittings polished to mirror shine. Slower than the underground pods (maybe 25 kph) but infinitely more pleasant.
I rode trams for six days straight. Partially for transportation, mostly because they're mobile observation platforms. You see the city properly from a tram: workers adjusting pipe fittings, street vendors selling pressure-cooked food, kids playing near steam vents (supervised; the culture is safety-conscious).
Cost: 2 Korun-Steam per ride, all-day pass for 15 KS. Cheaper than walking, arguably, since your feet don't hurt afterward.
Where to Stay (Or: Hotels With Functional Heating)
Accommodation in Prague-45 ranges from "period-accurate with steam upgrades" to "we built this specifically for dimensional tourists who want weird nostalgia."
I stayed at the Pařižská Steamhouse, a boutique hotel in the Jewish Quarter. Built in 1889 (this timeline), retrofitted continuously, currently a perfect hybrid of Art Nouveau aesthetics and functional steam technology.
My room: 4th floor corner suite with view of the Vltava River. Features included:
- Steam-heated floors: Copper coils under hardwood, fed by building's main pressure system. Adjustable via brass thermostatic valve (takes practice; I spent night one alternating between freezing and broiling).
- Pressure shower: Uses steam differential to create water pressure. Sounds weird. Works incredibly well. Strongest shower I've experienced across eight dimensions.
- Mechanical bed warmer: Brass panel at foot of bed that radiates gentle heat. No electricity, pure thermodynamics. I slept better than I have in months.
- Original fixtures: Crystal sconces converted to steam-powered luminescence (heated elements glow; not as bright as electric, but warmer in tone).
Cost: 180 KS per night (≈€85 equivalent), includes breakfast, steam-sauna access, and apologetic looks from staff when pressure fluctuations make pipes clang at 3 AM.
Alternate option: Hotel Josef near Old Town. More modern (built 1950s-ish), less character, better soundproofing. 150 KS per night. Recommended if mechanical noise bothers you.
What to Eat (Or: Pressure Cooking Perfected)
Prague-45's cuisine evolved using steam pressure cooking as primary method. Result: food that's familiar in concept but different in execution.
Café Louvre
Traditional café (exists in multiple dimensions; always good). Earth-45's version specializes in pressure-extracted coffee and steam-baked pastries.
I ordered Svatováclavský koláč (St. Wenceslas wheel cake)—sweet pastry that's supposed to represent the Czech crown. In this timeline, they steam-bake it in shaped molds, creating impossibly fluffy texture. Served with coffee that tastes like dark chocolate and burnt caramel had a sophisticated child.
Cost: 25 KS. Worth every koruna.
The café's interior is peak 1920s elegance: dark wood, brass fixtures, crystal chandeliers (gas-lit, not electric, because of course). I sat for three hours, drinking too much coffee, watching locals read steam-printed newspapers (the printing process uses pressure-driven ink systems; the papers have this subtle copper smell).
In home dimension, I'd feel guilty wasting time. Here? Sitting in a café, watching alternate history unfold through the window? That is the work.
U Fleků
Medieval brewery (founded 1499, same across most timelines). Earth-45's version uses steam systems for brewing process, creating beer with slightly different flavor profiles.
I tried the tmavé výčepní (dark lager). Served at cellar temperature from wooden kegs pressurized by building's steam system. Flavor was... complex. Malty, slightly metallic (from copper pipes), with finish that tasted like smoked caramel.
Pairing: svíčková—braised beef with creamy vegetable sauce. Traditionally made in home dimension. Here, pressure-cooked in sealed brass vessels that trap flavor in ways regular cooking can't.
The beef fell apart at touch. The sauce had depth suggesting hours of simmering but achieved in maybe 30 minutes via pressure. Physics and cuisine dancing together.
Cost: 80 KS for meal and beer. Atmosphere: loud, jovial, zero tourists from home dimension (mostly locals and Earth-45 travelers from other cities).
Street Food
Prague-45 has thriving street food culture, adapted for steam cooking.
Best find: pressure-cooked klobása (sausage) from cart near Charles Bridge. The vendor—older woman with hands that suggested decades of steam-work—cooked sausages in portable pressure chamber. Three minutes from raw to done, casing crispy, interior impossibly juicy.
She served it on dark bread with mustard, wrapped in paper that absorbed grease. I ate standing on the bridge, watching steam barges navigate the Vltava, trying not to think about how this version of Prague might be better than mine.
The sausage helped. Hard to be melancholy while eating perfectly cooked meat.
Cost: 12 KS. Best lunch of the trip.
Practical Tips (Or: How Not to Embarrass Yourself)
Six days in Earth-45 taught me things guidebooks don't cover.
1. Learn Pressure Etiquette
Steam systems require maintenance. Workers adjust pressure constantly. When you see someone working on pipes, don't distract them. Pressure accidents are rare but catastrophic. Locals treat steam workers like surgeons—give space, respect the concentration.
I watched tourist (from Earth-23, I think) try to take selfie with worker adjusting main distribution valve. Worker's partner politely but firmly removed the tourist. Could've been ugly. Wasn't, because Earth-45 Czechs are patient with dimensional idiots.
2. Morning Pressure Spikes
Between 6-7 AM, the city's steam plants ramp up for daily demand. Buildings creak, pipes clang, pressure vents release loudly. This is normal. Don't panic. Locals sleep through it. You won't, at first. By day three, I barely noticed.
3. Brass Polish Your Currency
Tarnished brass coins are technically legal but culturally disrespectful. Most hotels offer complimentary polishing cloths. Use them. Paying with shiny currency gets better service.
This shouldn't matter. It does. I tested it: tarnished coins at café, adequate service. Polished coins next day, got extra pastry free. Humans are weird across all dimensions.
4. Steam Sauna Protocols
Public steam saunas are social hubs. Mixed gender, nude or toweled (your choice), conversation expected. Topics: weather, pressure fluctuations, philosophical complaints about progress.
I went once. Ended up in hour-long debate with engineer about thermodynamic efficiency. He argued Earth-45's steam focus allowed specialization impossible in electric timelines. I argued electricity's versatility enabled innovations steam can't match.
We both convinced ourselves we were right. Probably both were. Parallel dimensions: equally valid, mutually incompatible.
5. Don't Discuss Electricity
Earth-45 knows about electricity. It exists here—laboratory curiosity, niche applications. But it's culturally loaded. Suggesting "things would be better with electric power" is like telling Italian nonna her pasta recipe is wrong.
Technically maybe true. Socially catastrophic.
Helena explained: "We made our choice. It works. Why would we envy your timeline's solution?"
Why indeed. My home dimension has smartphones and environmental collapse. Earth-45 has steam infrastructure and... well, also environmental issues (coal burning), but different ones.
Better? Worse? The math changes depending on what you value.
The Brass District (Or: Where Steam Becomes Culture)
Day four, Helena took me to Žižkov—in this timeline, called the Brass District.
Home dimension's Žižkov is residential neighborhood with TV tower and beer culture. Earth-45's version is industrial-artistic hybrid: steam-pipe foundries, brass-working studios, pressure-gauge artists, and the city's most interesting counterculture.
The district grew around major steam plant (still operating, still massive). Workers who maintained the plant became artisans. Artisans attracted artists. Artists built community. Now it's Prague-45's creative heart: galleries in converted boiler rooms, cafes in former pressure stations, studios making art from industrial surplus.
I spent entire afternoon wandering fabrication studios, watching craftspeople work. One artist—young guy, maybe 25—made sculptures from decommissioned pressure gauges. He'd arrange them in patterns that told stories about industrial society's beauty and violence.
"Your timeline uses electricity, yes?" he asked, adjusting brass dial.
"Mostly."
"You hide your infrastructure. Wires in walls, power plants outside cities. We can't hide steam. So we make it meaningful instead."
His sculpture: 40 pressure gauges arranged in spiral. Each gauge showed different pressure level, collectively creating visual rhythm. Title: "Breath of the City."
It was gorgeous. I bought smaller piece (18 gauges, abstract pattern). Cost: 200 KS (not cheap, but original art never is). Worth it for physical reminder: "better" depends on what you choose to value.
The Markets
Brass District hosts weekend market—farmers, craftspeople, food vendors, engineers selling surplus parts.
I bought:
- Pressure-cooked honey (yes, it's different): Vendor explained heat-treatment under pressure caramelizes sugars differently. Result: honey that tastes like toffee. 35 KS per jar.
- Mechanical pocket watch: Not decorative—functional timepiece driven by wound spring and escapement mechanism. Zero batteries, infinite repairability. 120 KS. Still runs perfectly.
- Steam-roasted coffee beans: From vendor who imported beans (from Earth-45's version of Ethiopia) and pressure-roasted them. Flavor profile impossible to achieve with electric roasting. 45 KS for 250g.
Total spent: 200 KS on things I absolutely didn't need but couldn't resist.
Dimensional tourism: where you buy alternate-universe souvenirs to prove you were really there.
What Earth-45 Gets Right (Or: Lessons in Alternate Choices)
Six days watching steam-powered civilization function teaches you things about your home dimension's choices.
Repairability
Earth-45's technology is fixable. Steam pipes crack? Cut out section, braze in replacement. Pressure gauge fails? Replace internal mechanism. Tram breaks? Accessible components, comprehensible engineering.
Home dimension's electronics: opaque, proprietary, designed for replacement not repair. Earth-45 culture assumes things should last and be fixable. Result: less waste, deeper relationship with tools.
Not saying steam is better—it's slower, dirtier, less versatile. But the philosophical approach? Worth stealing.
Visible Systems
When infrastructure is visible, people understand it. Earth-45 citizens generally know how steam works, where it comes from, what maintains it. Creates civic engagement impossible when systems hide behind walls.
Downside: constant noise, visual clutter, pressure accident risks. Upside: population that gets their technology, demands accountability, participates in maintenance.
My home dimension: most people don't know where electricity comes from. Just flip switch, expect power. Earth-45: everyone sees the pipes, hears the engines, understands the trade-offs.
Ignorance is comfortable. Knowledge is noisy. Pick your poison.
Coffee
Seriously, the coffee here is just better. I'm bringing back beans. My home dimension needs to know pressure-extraction is superior.
Will anyone care? Probably not. Will I become annoying coffee snob who won't shut up about "this amazing alternate dimension brewing method"? Absolutely yes.
Small price for excellent coffee.
The Hard Question (Or: What Is This Place Really?)
Last night in Prague-45, I sat on Charles Bridge (same in most dimensions), watching steam barges navigate the river, lights reflecting off copper-pipe bridges.
Helena joined me. We'd spent six days together—enough time for comfortable silence.
"You always look sad," she finally said. "All the dimensional travelers do. Why?"
Good question. Complicated answer.
"Because every dimension I visit is evidence my home timeline made different choices. Some are worse. Some are better. Most are just... different. And there's no way to know if our path was right or just the one we happened to take."
"Does it matter? You can't change your timeline."
"No. But I can't stop wondering what we lost by choosing electricity over steam, or individualism over community, or—" I gestured at the city, "—hiding our infrastructure instead of celebrating it."
She laughed—not unkindly. "You dimension-jumpers think too much. We didn't 'choose' steam. It worked, so we kept using it. You didn't 'choose' electricity. It was available, so you developed it. Neither is better. Both are just... choices that cascaded."
"But the coffee—"
"The coffee is better because we had 150 years to perfect pressure-extraction. Your timeline had 150 years to perfect electric roasting. If we swapped technologies today, in 150 years, you'd have better coffee with electricity and we'd have better coffee with electricity too. It's not the system. It's the time invested."
Probably true. Still annoying.
"So what's the point of visiting if everything's just different versions of arbitrary choices?"
"Same reason you visit cities in your own dimension: to see how other people live. To learn. To borrow ideas. To remember your way isn't the only way." She stood, stretched. "Also, the coffee really is better here. That part you got right."
She left me on the bridge, watching steam rise from vents, thinking about choices and coffee and the infinite branching paths of probability.
Coming Soon: The Library Between Worlds: Cataloguing Infinite Realities
Dmitri Volkov is a theoretical physicist navigating parallel dimensions, documenting alternate realities and questioning which version of Earth is the "real" one. Formerly of CERN, currently based "between dimensions."