Analyze the following story and indicate which genre it belongs to. Indicate whether it belongs to the steampunk genre and on the basis of which elements. indicates the context.

“It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?” The mayor and civil officials seemed impressed. For the first time in history, humanity had freed itself from the slavery of fire and candles to embrace the power of electricity.

Certainly, at first glance these new torches looked incredibly similar to the old ones, standing on a three-meter iron pole with a glass dome on top. The difference was that from that moment onwards, it would no longer be necessary for someone to climb the poles at every dawn and dusk.

All that was required was to lower the large lever in the electrical cabin and the street lights would turn on simultaneously. It was the first time that the Klavatrean people (and the whole world) could admire the wonders of electricity, and that simple demonstration hit everyone like a bolt from the blue.

“All this thanks to the diversion of the river?” asked the civil engineer. One of the electricians, Din Kiiros, nodded. They had diverted the course of the river into five channels with as many turbines arranged in parallel.

For transmission, they had opted for a three-phase system reduced to the bare minimum. In the city of Feedotkall, one phase served municipal needs while the other served the west and east sides, but it was still in a state of electrification. The transformers were still a bit primitive and consisted essentially of two porcelain or ceramic cylinders stacked on top of each other, one for the primary circuit and the other for the secondary.

Sometimes - not often, but it happens - they would break with disastrous consequences, a problem that had been tried to be mitigated thanks to the massive use of fuses in critical points. It had long been known that fire needs oxygen to burn, which is why equipment at risk was usually found in watertight underground vaults.

At that time, electricity experts had focused their attention on thermionic valves, although civilization was far from developing radio equipment, and was limited to using them as relays.

The city’s top administrators were present at that “celebration”. Although it was not the inauguration of a commercial venture or some factory, the arrival of electrical lighting on a street was still a celebratory event.

The attendees were dressed in the refined and elaborate artistic style of the 19th century. Kiiros, the electrician, had a purple jacket with a cut at the back so that it closed in a swallowtail, ivory buttons, and elegant golden curls from the neck down to the sleeves. The fact that he had leather mountain boots was not noteworthy, as they were quite common. However, he admitted that he hated those clothes, which made him look plumper than he actually was (he was actually quite lean and tall, with a bony skull and a pointed chin).

In the midst of the crowd, he felt someone pinching his arm from above his suit. It was Steve McNick, the alchemy specialist.

The man, slightly shorter and stockier, with beautiful black hair, was staring at the electrician. “Shall we smoke a cigar?” the others parted from the crowd while one of the most festive and exuberant nobles distributed champagne around, soaking anything in his reach.

The lighter was equipped with two flintstones. When the lid was raised, two things happened: the gas valve opened, and the two stones rubbed against each other. Kiiros’ had a cocoa-colored leather case. He approached the tool to his face and drew in from the cigar, producing a large, odorous cloud. He then passed it to McNick so he could also draw from the flames.

He returned the lighter to Kiiros, who agilely put it back in his jacket. “Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” began the electrician. McNick raised an eyebrow, “Mmh. You can still smell the factory stench.” “In an industrial revolution, I would be surprised if it were otherwise.”

The two were walking in the middle of the street, while on their sides the proud and solemn electric poles held the light that illuminated their path. They had a calm and relaxed pace, taking small steps.

“This is a day to remember,” said Kiiros. “Doesn’t it make you proud to witness an event our grandchildren will study in history books?” “Sure. October 15th, 1898.” Kiiros looked up at the sky and looked at McNick with a annoyed expression.

“How many times have I told you that we don’t count years in that way?” “I know.” And he also looked at the sky. He was sure that at that point his friend would start with the usual long calculation.

“Twenty days make up an Uinal, 18 Uinal make up a year, called Tun, 20 Tun make up a Katun, 20 Katun make up a Baktun, and so on.” “It’s not that I haven’t learned it,” McNick clarified. “It’s just that the Gregorian calendar is much more convenient.”

“Can you convert the date to the Mayan calendar?” McNick remained silent for about ten seconds. He was calculating the date in his head, relying on what he had heard in the past few days.

“Today is 2-15. Year 12.14.4.” “Exactly,” said Kiiros, pleased. “I didn’t expect you alchemists to be good at calculations.”

Kiiros caught sight of a scowl the man was directing at him.

“I’m telling you for your own good, McNick. With your name, anyone can tell that you’re of European origin.” “English,” McNick clarified. “I’m English.” “Whatever. What made Columbus cross the ocean to find us? Did you expect us to say good morning? Would you like some coffee? We won’t let the continent be stolen by the first person who passes.”

“You could have been a little more polite, though.”

“That’s not the point. We too have had our fair share of pagans. History teaches us that the most technologically advanced civilization always defeats the inferior one. This is a milestone that belongs to us.”

McNick paused for a moment. He finally understood why English mixed with a distant, vowel and incomprehensible language in those parts. “Kiiros,” McNick whispered. “Since we’re friends, can I ask you a question?”

The electrician nodded.

“Am I a good alchemist?” Kiiros began coughing furiously. Some of the smoke went down the wrong way, and that was joined by a drop of saliva and what he had eaten for lunch.

“Well…uh…let’s put it this way. Alchemy was discovered by us and you are a migrant, so I would say you are very well-naturalized.” “Mmhh,” McNick snorted. “But that’s not what I asked you.”

“Let’s put it this way: This is the era of lightning. The time for alchemy has not yet come.” McNick didn’t have time to reply before slipping on something. Something lumpy and soft. He looked down at his boots, suddenly angry.

“Can we invent a mode of transportation that doesn’t leave crap lying around?” It was a souvenir left by one of the many stagecoaches that passed through that street.