Mechanical Angel

by Sara Shanning

  He sat on a stool, leaning over a large white slab table. Gears and cogs were in piles as well as a myriad of small tools. He looked up at her entrance, a smile spreading over his face.

  Alel had chosen the simplest of the clothing; a ruffled gold skirt, a dark green fitted shirt, and a long black coat that buttoned to the waist and then flared out over the sides of the skirt. She was unused to so much color and fabric and felt conspicuous and on display.

  His eyes swept over her and he nodded in appreciation. “Color suits you.” He waved to a vacant stool set around the wide table. “Please sit, my dear. You may call me Sir Jax.”

  He abandoned his project to busy himself at the counter, opening a rounded cabinet door with small windows inset sporadically to remove a light blue goblet. He set the goblet beneath a spigot on one of the machines lining the counter and pushed a valve. Within seconds, a vent at the top of the machine opened and steam escaped, and with a hissing sound, she heard liquid flowing. He closed the valve and touched a button and fluid poured into the cup.

  She stared at it when he set it before her.

  “It is only water. Clean water.”

  On the Black Streets, water was collected in barrels, strained and boiled, and emptied into containers sold by vendors as ‘purified.’ Unless one could find a way to collect it on their own. Many a home had a bucket, if one could be found, hanging from their one small window to collect rain for themselves. Many others did not even have a window.

  Taking a hesitant sip, Alel found the water was cold and exclaimed about it. She had seen the steam rise, after all.

  “Ice,” he explained. He opened a hatch near the bottom. “You insert it here and when the water releases, it settles in a chamber above it, where it cools. Then, you touch this button, water flows over the ice, making it refreshingly cold.”

  He patted the upper part of the machine. “Normally I keep it full, but you have been quite the distraction.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  Settling back on the stool, he chose a tiny screwdriver and bent back over whatever he was working on. “Long enough to heal.”

  “That isn’t enough. Why did you make me one of your experiments?”

  He set the tool back down and regarded her calmly. “When those men finished with you, they left you to the rats. I was able to restart your heart, but I could not save what the rats took from you. Vicious things. I brought you here and put you into a coma so I could fix you.”

  “I died. You should have let me be.”

  “On the contrary, you are a Relic woman. I thought it my duty to save you.”

  “I know what happens to Relic women! I have no interest in being your toy, or anyone else’s!”

  He reared back, obviously appalled. “I have not brought you here for such a thing! I am not like those men roaming the Black Streets with ill intent! I will keep you safe and no harm will come to you,” he finished firmly.

  Rising again, he opened a metal panel, revealing an array of food. More than Alel had seen anywhere but at the vendor stalls, and none there had ever looked so appealing. He began to gather ingredients.

  “I have use for you. I have breathed life into many beautiful conceptions and I fear they need more than I can give. They are not thriving.” He turned, giving her an appraising look. “You are my mechanical angel. I am hoping you have what has been needed. Something I have been unable to find.”

  “Because I am of the Relic? There is nothing special about me. I just have physical attributes that have mostly become lost in the blood lines.”

  Turning back to his gathering on the counter, he answered her. “You have been grossly misled as to your importance. Were you never told the stories?” He set a small dish in front of her filled with a variety of what looked like fruits.

  “I was told fairy tales.”

  He motioned to the plate of food. “Eat. I sense you are not used to the concept of ‘having enough.’”

  “I don’t even know what most of this is,” Alel admitted.

  Propping an elbow on the counter, he leaned over the plate and picked up half of a split pod. “This is Pacay. It is a delicacy due to its sweetness.” He set it down and chose another. “Fuyu persimmon. Often referred to as the ‘fruit of the gods.’ Many eat this because they believe it garners favor and intellect.”

  “From gods?” Alel frowned. Her mother had spoken often of only One God, a loving being who called to the spirits of all and gave them a choice for redemption and eternal life. “It is only fruit.”

  Her short time in Sir Jax’s presence had already proved there was far more to the world than she had ever known, but on the subject of gods her soul was telling her to stand firm. Her mother’s speech of a powerful Creator who saw to the good of His children had been her favorite, bringing her much comfort and peace during the most difficult of times. She certainly did not trust in a fruit, no matter how good it was.

  She let him continue with his descriptions. When he was done, he nudged the plate toward her. “Try them. I shall prepare a proper meal for you.”

  Her palate was not advanced. Those on the Black Streets were used to simple fare of rice, soy cakes, and if one was lucky enough, sourdough bread. Families with sourdough cultures passed down through the generations sold their wares from ground floor windows. The lowest level of the towering, stacked stones holding the residents of the dark side of Piellan were reserved for citizens who could pay the exorbitant fees for the choice location.

  Of the three she sampled, Alel liked the Cucamelon the best. Unsure if her stomach would tolerate a barrage of flavors she was unused to, she hoped it was not rude to leave the rest untouched.

  “I would like to know what exactly you are expecting from me here?”

  Casting a look over his shoulder at her, Sir Jax tsked at her. “My dear, perhaps it will be better for me to explain to you your privileges.” He motioned at the plate before her. “Food and water are available to you whenever you please. Anything I have is available to you whenever you desire. Food, drink, money, clothing, entertainment, whatever you wish. You will have a room of your own, privacy, and be allowed anywhere on the grounds you like. You will be treated with respect and courtesy, and I will ensure any that cross my threshold do the same.”

  “In return for what? I don’t understand what you mean by caring for your... guardians?”

  “They are your guardians, my dear. You shall care for all my creations. Those I have been successful with, and those I have not. Let us say you shall be their guardian angel as they watch over you in turn.”

  “So I am to be your prisoner here?”

  He spun, startled. “My prisoner? Goodness, no! I have no desire to hide you away! Why, the people will be in awe to see you at my side!”

  Lowering her eyes to the plate, Alel gave her focus to the fruits, slowly choosing what he had called a Langsat. His words gave her the truth; she was his trophy after all.

  Chapter 4

  Metal Hearts

  The meal he prepared for her was incredible and satisfying. And made her question the differences between the Black and White streets and how they had come to be so segregated.

  What caused such things to become available only to certain people? Did Sir Jax’s money allow the luxuries he had, or were all of those on the White Streets given access to the same things? Was money what granted one a home on this side of the world?

  She did not ask her questions, and after she had eaten, Sir Jax led her to a room, his steps slow to allow for the limp in her gait. He promised her he would introduce her to her charges in the morning and bid her good-night.

  Alel slept little. The pallet atop a complex scrollwork of metal was blissfully comfortable and warm, the silence made her skittish as she was unused to it, and she had not missed the gleam of metal eyes set about the room watching her.

  Still, she did finally sleep and the trill of a bird woke her. This one, perched on the delicate scrollwork of the frame of
the bed, was a soft pink with multi-colored wings in soft pastels gracing its sides. She could not help but smile to greet it. As though encouraged, the small animal hopped down to roost on her shoulder.

  “Am I to guess you understand what I say?” she asked it curiously.

  The bird chirped at her. Alel sighed, tentatively reaching out to see if it would let her touch it. “Alas, if you can, I cannot understand you.”

  She stroked a finger over the metal back. It was as smooth as skin and warmer than she expected. At her touch, the three tail feathers gracing the end of its robotic body lifted and fluttered, as though they were real. Alel laughed.

  “May I rise, my friend?” Lifting its pretty wings at her request, the bird took flight.

  Alel chose clothing from the large armoire and dressed. Three walls of her room were scattered with moderately sized windows, all circular. Swirls separated panes of colored glass, creating beautiful prisms. Rainbows of light from it shimmered on a flowered chair set beside a small wooden round table, the floor-to-ceiling Victorian framed mirror, and the coordinating desk and chair set to the left of it.

  Every exposed inch of the walls were covered with delicate looking cogs, gears, and various types of gauges. It was a distinctly female room and could have held at least two of the living space she and her mother had shared for most of her life.

  Sir Jax waited for her in the kitchen, once she finally found it again. He removed a plate from beneath a metal dome and set it before her. “Would you care for coffee or tea?”

  “I’ve never had either,” Alel told him as she sat. She did not recognize any of the foods on her plate.

  “Did you sleep well, my dear?”

  “No.” She liked whatever fare he was feeding her. She supposed anything would taste good after a lifetime of eating rice and soy. He set two textured copper mugs before her, naming their contents as he did so. He was offering her a taste of both of the drinks he had spoken of.

  She did not like the coffee, but found the tea pleasant.

  “Might be a bit strong for you. There are many who prefer coffee with fresh cream or sugar, or both.” Taking a stool across from her, he folded his hands on the table. “Is there a remedy I could offer for your restless night? Was there pain? Discomfort?”

  Alel shook her head. “Change.”

  “Ah, I see. The clothing suits you. I was glad to discard those hideous garments I found you in.”

  Not a subject Alel wished to discuss. She quickly took her last bite. “Could you show me how I am to be spending my days, please?”

  His blue eye studied her and she found it far too assessing, but he stood when she did.

  He led her down a hallway decorated with hammered iron depictions of animals, through a tall archway that opened into a long hallway stretching off to either side. Along the length, there was only one giant set of doors, mirroring each other, set straight across from the arch they had just walked through.

  Sir Jax placed his hands on a long thin rod that ran almost the entire vertical length of the door and was attached to a complicated array of cogwheels and sprockets.

  “I have maintained a deep hope for you to see them all as I do. I believe you have what their metal hearts need. There is but one rule: you may not take the life I have given from any of them. It is my right only to determine who I give breath to.”

  Did the man think he was God? “What do you mean by breath?”

  “Steam, of course. They are not like you; they do not breathe on their own. Do you agree to my terms?”

  “If I do not, what happens then?”

  A sad smile played on his lips and his blue eye darkened. He pulled down on the bar and the whirring she was beginning to associate with his contraptions hummed to life. “I very strongly suggest you do not break the rule, my dear. Now, come.”

  Pulling the doors wide, he stepped inside with a flourish.

  It was one room, spreading as wide as the length of the hallway, and it was filled with mechanical things that blinked all manner of eyes at her. Animals of all sorts, although she saw none of the birds. Misshapen robots, pieced together in odd formations, and then, there were the children. She could think of nothing else to call them.

  Small in stature, with varying degrees of metal arms and legs and bodies, faces with some human features and even hair upon their heads. “You said no more were like me!”

  A girl with half her face a mixture of gears and smooth alloy blinked at her with one soft lash and one of short spikes set atop a marble eye. One hand and one leg was human, attached to round joints. She wore a petticoat dress and one shoe.

  “None of them are. Rather they are machine with human parts. You are human, with machine parts. Completely distinct beings.”

  Horrified, Alel gaped at Sir Jax. “Where did you get the... human parts?”

  Sir Jax patted her shoulder. “From the dead, of course.”

  “I don’t understand how it’s possible?”

  “Well, I admit there were many, many failures before I was able to get one to live. I tried to save so many lives, but it is a difficult thing, to merge science with life.”

  He picked up a squirrel, holding it out so she could see it closer. “You see here?” He pointed to a place upon its rounded back and took a tube from a leather pocket at his side with a thick rounded bar protruding from it. Much like a needle, only thicker.

  “If I insert this here and press the plunger...” The tube swirled with smoke and a hissing sound escaped. “Steam gives it life!”

  Smiling, he set the mechanical animal down. It scampered across the room and darted behind a pile of small, discarded sheets of metal. Sir Jax tucked the tube back into place, swinging an arm to encompass the room.

  “Steam is how they breathe. It is quite... distracting to spend the time it takes to refill them all. I don’t, of course, but you may.”

  Alel knew nothing of science. Or of whatever process he was trying to explain to her.

  He went to one of the children, turning the boy so she could see a cylinder strapped to his back. “They take far more than the smaller creatures, of course. Each of them has their own level of complexity. But, it does what I intended.”

  Patting the boy’s head, he grimaced. “It was a miracle, really, your existence as it is.”

  With a heavy, but satisfied sigh, he came back to her. “The creations in this room will be your responsibility and I’d like you to spend your days putting them to use, in whatever way you see fit. I would like to focus on my craft and not be bothered with my failures.”

  Sir Jax started toward the door. “I have given you your rules, Alel. When I have use of you, you will do as I say. Otherwise, you are free to make yourself a home here. But, do not be mistaken; I will be watching.”

  Chapter 5

  Mechanical Greetings

  He left her then, unconcerned at her reaction to his words or to what was in the room.

  Alel had no idea what he wanted her to do. Except make sure they stayed alive, whatever that meant. She hadn’t the slightest idea about machines and doubted she could figure out how to turn them off if she tried, if that was even what he meant by ‘taking their life.’

  If he intended for her to fill all of them with steam each day, she doubted there was enough time between waking and sleeping.

  There were five of the children. Three girls and two boys. All of them partially human. They did not seem alarmed at her presence, but watched her curiously as she stood, uncertain on how to proceed.

  It was a robot, the base of its body round like a ball, that came forward, stopping in front of her and holding out a hand. Taking the three-fingered palm, she stared at the arm. The top half was a plate of metal, the underside was human. Its upper body was shaped like a human torso and it wore a butler’s coat over a white shirt, with the traditional cravat its master she had yet to see wear. The face was round as well, with gauges as eyes and a slit covered with wire mesh for a mouth.

  “Sir
Jax has tasked us to obey you, Miss. We are your humble servants.”

  Alel had not expected them to speak. Astonished, she stared, still holding the hand.

  Finally gathering her wits, she let go and scanned the room. Every eye was upon her. “You are not my servants. I am just another of his apparent experiments.”

  “I am B33. You are Relic. We shall protect you at all costs, Miss.”

  “Why does Sir Jax do this?”

  “I do not understand what you ask, Miss.”

  Of course he would not. His brain was not human, so giving her an answer would require an opinion he did not have. Alel moved past B33 to get closer to the children. They were grouped together, not touching, but clearly a unit.

  “May I know your names?” she asked tentatively, unsure if they could speak as well.

  “A, B, C, D and E, Miss,” one of the boys answered.

  “You don’t have names?” She could see it now. The small brand on their cheeks easily telling her which was which.

  “We are not human, Miss.” The statement was a bit defiant, not robot-like at all.

  To her, they were reminiscent of times gone in appearance. These days, children were kept hidden in homes, away from the men on the Black Streets. If one was not careful, they were stolen and never seen again.

  Human, or not, they looked like children. In a way. “You must have names. I cannot call you letters of the alphabet.”

  “Whatever you wish, Miss.”

  “Well, I think it’s a good start. Obviously Sir Jax has quite the obsession with metals, so perhaps instead of just a letter, we name you after one beginning with that letter?” Alel struggled to think of terminology she knew.

  “Aluminum,” she said to the girl in the petticoat dress with an A on her cheek. “So Alum, then. Much prettier than the whole word drawn out, don’t you think?”

  “Whatever you wish, Miss.”