Gearbreakers

by Zoe Hana Mikuta

Milo slaps my wrist away. “Don’t touch him!”

  “What do you think I am going to do? Finish him off?”

  “I bet you’ve done worse.”

  “Much worse. But never to my own crew,” I say, specifically choosing the words that will make the vein in his neck pop a bit more.

  “Your crew—!”

  And then, to my astonishment, Xander growls. He rips off a strip of his shirt with his teeth and knots it above the wound—a graze, now that I can see it clearly. Then his black eyes snap to us, thin, sharp lips twisted in a snarl.

  “If you two don’t stop bickering,” Xander mutters in a voice much gruffer than I had imagined, “the Berserker won’t have a chance to finish you off. I’ll do it myself.”

  I nearly burst out laughing.

  “I did not know you could talk,” I say.

  “When he’s injured, or angry,” Milo says. “And then it’s only threats.”

  “Because most of the time no one’s worth my breath,” Xander spits, and shakes out his arm with a nasty grin. “Godsdamn hate getting shot. Are we going to kill this thing?”

  The sun disappears. We all look upward to see it replaced by two crimson eclipses, and the stench of smoke envelops us as the Windup bends, the row of muzzles in its chest like twelve perfect black holes.

  “Scatter!” Milo shouts.

  We manage to clear a few feet before the cannons become primed, but even so, the barrage sends all of us airborne. Somehow I manage to land on my feet, only to straighten and watch as the Berserker shifts its stance to turn toward me. For a moment it pauses, watching, and Eris’s voice rings in my memory: It can’t help but steal a glance, remind itself how much it towers over us.

  Well, then. I clutch my blade until my knuckles scream white. Take a good look.

  “What the hells are you doing, Bot?” Milo yells from my right.

  Getting Xander out of range, but you can thank me, too.

  I raise the sword. En garde, Berserker. A common, wasteful unit, and the epitome of Godolia’s gluttony, stuffed full of bullets. No matter. They could never measure up to the cold grace of a Valkyrie.

  A burst of heat suddenly washes over my skin, a sheen of sweat breaking across my forehead. The Berserker stumbles back, reaching an arm across its chest to grapple at its shoulder. I have seen this happen before—the metal armor bubbling from beneath the grip, liquefying before my eyes, an attack without a visible source. The Windup collapses onto one knee. Beneath it, the dainty thistles erupt into flame.

  I turn to see Jenny in a firm stance on the peak of the Argus’s knee, smirk so brilliant it slashes through the smoke. She gives the barest tilt of her chin.

  “You’re stealing my spotlight, Glitch,” she calls. “Facing off a mecha like that. Best get going before it gets up. And do watch the molten bits.”

  I look toward Milo. “A little help, perhaps?”

  I do not wait for a response. I begin to sprint, knowing—hoping—that a bit of Xander’s sharp words got through. We can bicker all we like once we return to the safety of the Hollows.

  As I reach the base of the Windup’s knee, Milo appears with hands low and fingers intertwined. I jump into the foothold, and he springs upward, sending me flying toward the hole eating away at the mecha’s thigh. I catch hold of a ladder rung before gravity has the chance to become greedy, and I begin to climb.

  I do not give the guards a chance to raise their weapons. Giving them a flicker of hope would be cruel. These are quick killings, merciful ones, I tell myself.

  Swallow hard. Swallow again, past the cold cracking my chest.

  And then the Pilot, the poor, pitiful creature, not knowing that death is upon her even as I stand directly in front of her open, unseeing eyes. I wait for a hesitation in her steps, then sever the cords in a single swipe of my blade. The Windup shudders beneath me as the connection between its mind and body is ripped from existence, but remains upright.

  I slide my palm against the Pilot’s cheek as the focus returns to her gaze, see the fear there dance lively and wild. I relieve her of her terror, and I allow her rest. The body falls to my feet, and I bend to close her eye. Her eye, not theirs.

  So easy. I think it’s a prayer. I think I am begging. This is so easy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  SONA

  My feet hit the singed grass, and my temple is met with the barrel of Milo’s pistol. I throw him a sideways glance, finding his face carved into a scowl.

  “You must be really afraid of Eris,” I say, “the way you waver like this. You could have pulled the trigger ages ago and been done with it.”

  “How did they know?” he growls.

  “This is getting a tad old, Milo.”

  “Vanguard! What the hells are you doing?” a familiar bark sounds, and then an orange-veined glove is clamping onto the pistol. Heat swells up the side of my face as I recoil, and Milo cries out, staggering a step back. Jenny’s goggles are around her neck, giving full view of the venom in her gaze. She deactivates the magma gloves the barest moment before her finger jabs at Milo’s sternum. “We need her, idiot!”

  She drops the firearm to the ground. The imprint of her hand is pasted against the barrel, the magma serum collapsing the structure and leaving it as nothing but another broken item of the Junkyard.

  “How did they know, Jenny?” Milo yells. “First an Argus, then three Berserkers! Twenty miles from the Hollows!”

  He means to draw attention, turn the Gearbreakers against me. I am not worried. Jenny wants me alive, and as much as they may scream for my life, none of them will challenge her. And even if they did, she would knock them flat with a smirk and a clean punch. Same goes for Eris, minus the grin. The way she is stomping over to us now—breath hot despite the twin frosted Windups she leaves in her wake—makes me feel a bit sorry for Milo.

  Eris stops short once she reaches us, staring down at the melted firearm.

  “I’m surprised your head isn’t like that by now,” she spits at Milo, “with all that hot air bundled up inside.”

  “We are so close to the Hollows, Eris! They’re looking for it, can’t you see that?”

  “And can’t you see the work she’s done? How she acts? How she hasn’t slaughtered us in our beds yet? You know you’re—”

  “Can you just shut up, both of you?” Jenny interjects. “Gods, the bickering! I would throttle you all if grave digging wasn’t so much effort. They’ve probably got mechas making rounds of the entire forest, looking for the Archangel pieces, looking for us, big whoop, what’s new, now shut it.”

  Jenny turns to leave, then thinks better of it, clamping a hand onto Milo’s shoulder. She matches his height, but he leans back when she leans in and towers magnificently. “I won’t tell Vox about this little homicidal kick you seem to be on, but listen, kid, I need the Bot. And if you kill her, in whatever idiotic, oh-so-obviously-compensating-for-something act you fancy that day, that fact still won’t change. And that means after I beat the living shit out of you, I’ll harvest her parts and implant them inside your body. Because at the end of the day, I just need a Pilot, and I don’t really care who it is. Feel free to take this threat very seriously. I happen to be so very smart.”

  I turn to Eris as Jenny marches off. “How was your fight, Frostbringer?”

  “Wish I was still in it.”

  She crosses her arms and begins to chuckle low at the expression on Milo’s face, which has visibly gone several shades paler. She waves a hand in front of his eyes, and he blinks hard.

  “You’re off suspension,” she says, shaking her head, “now that I’m fairly positive Glitch is safe from you.”

  “You think I’m scared of Jenny?”

  “I’ve found you’re more of a coward than I thought you to be.”

  “And you are pathetically naive,” he growls venomously, and suddenly his hand is around her wrist. For a moment, the flash of an image: my blade finding home across his neck, a choked cry dribbling from his lips. �
�Wake up, Eris! What did they do to you? What did they take? Your sight, your instinct? Your hate? And what did they replace it with? Trust and weakness. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore. I pity you.”

  For a moment, an expression of extreme hurt flickers across her features. It wavers there for a half instant, long enough to make fury throb inside my chest. My hand tightens around the sword. But then I see a new look burst in her eyes, a glare colder than any steel I could ever hope to wield. Milo drops his grip. Now the laugh that escapes her is akin to thunder, a storm’s snarl.

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am weak. I got sloppy. I got captured. But I also got out. I left bodies in my wake and the name of the Frostbringer embedded in both Gearbreaker history and the Academy’s nightmares. I did that. So pity me all you want, Milo, but remember, fear is a waste of time. A waste of breath. I don’t fear death and I don’t fear Godolia and I sure as hells don’t fear what you think of me.”

  Eris turns to leave, giving a slight nudge of her chin as indication to follow. She shoves her shoulder harshly against Milo’s as she passes. “You know what I’m capable of. And I know you force yourself to pity me because you fear losing me. You’re right to do so. We’re done. And you can find yourself another crew as well. I don’t fancy having any cowards in mine.”

  “Eris,” I whisper as we peel away, leaving Milo lost in the tree line. To my surprise, her bottom lip quivers, just a bare moment before her teeth burrow into it. “Are you—?”

  “Don’t let me turn around, Sona.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And if I do, slap me. Very hard.”

  I chuckle. “I do not think I can do that.”

  “It’s an order from your commanding officer.”

  “You are not as scary as your sister. Her threats are a bit more effective.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she grumbles.

  She shakes her head, scowl pinned to its usual spot, but I believe I see the corners of her mouth twitch. Just slightly.

  * * *

  “Glitch. Sona, hey—”

  I wake up cold and with the taste of earth on my tongue. Her hand on my shoulder, Eris sighs and sits back on her heels.

  I swallow hard to flush my dry throat. “Was I—”

  “Third time this week,” she says. “Got something on your mind?”

  Everything … everything. Or there was, an instant ago. But now, the floor is quiet and I hear crickets outside Eris’s window. The darkness wraps around us like thin sheets of silk. Eris is wearing a large T-shirt and looks moderately irritated. My heartbeat is slowing. I do not remember what I was dreaming.

  “I told you I can sleep in Milo’s room just fine,” I respond, tilting my head toward her. My fingers find the eye patch underneath my pillow and tug it over my head.

  “It’s not Milo’s room, not anymore,” she retorts, scowling.

  “So let me have it.”

  A slight pause. “Give it a cooldown period.”

  “In case he comes back? It’s been a week already since he left.” Silence. I pull my legs up and knead my cheek thoughtfully. “And if he comes looking for a fight, I can take him.”

  “May be a wild concept to you, Glitch, but I would prefer to have both of you living.”

  “The common room would suffice as well.”

  “It’s filthy in there,” Eris snaps.

  “So is your floor,” I say, freeing the loops of hair trapped beneath the strap of the eye patch.

  “I said that there’s enough room for both of us on the bed!”

  “Intrusion.”

  “You’ve already intruded on my life, Glitch. And ruined it. Might as well go the whole nine miles.”

  “It is ‘nine yards,’ I think. Have I really ruined your life?”

  “Absolutely. Especially my sleep schedule.”

  I sigh and sit upright, pulling back the quilt. “I will be in the common room, then.”

  “Like hells you will,” she huffs, crossing her arms and leaning against the wood leg of her bed. “I want you here.”

  I pause my movements. Her eyes are closed, but I can tell that her ears are pricked for my threatened leaving. For a moment, I consider standing and making for the door, just to see what she would do.

  “And why do you want me here?” I ask instead. She opens her mouth once, closes it. Does the same again. I get a glimpse of her brow scar before she shakes her head swiftly.

  “I’m tired,” she announces, and I wait for her to rise to her feet. Instead, she peels back my quilt and slips underneath, lying flat against the thin floor mattress.

  “Get up,” I say.

  “Nope,” she responds. “I’m rooted. Take the bed.”

  I sigh again and rise, stepping over her slumped form and pulling myself onto her sheets, twisted from her fitful sleep. Seems she fights in her dreams as well.

  For maybe a half hour, all is quiet, but rest will not come. I stare up and try to locate the ceiling. The night has stolen it from above our heads.

  I crawl back toward the end of the mattress, peering down over the footboard. Her back is to me, but I still see the way the quilt is puckered around her clenched fists.

  “Stop watching me, Glitch,” her voice sounds.

  “You look like you are about to punch something.”

  “Yeah, you. Let me sleep.”

  “You cannot punch me from that distance.”

  The quilt flourishes, and suddenly she is on her knees, her nose inches from mine. In my peripheral vision, her fist is raised.

  I sit back on my heels and wait. She drops her hand and clambers up onto the bed, collapsing atop the bundled sheets, throwing her arms over her head. “Go to sleep.”

  Before there’s time to overthink it, I claim the space beside her, lying on my side. “You would have made a good Valkyrie, Eris.”

  She huffs and flips onto her side, too, facing me. Her shirt drapes over her form, outlining the delicate curve of her hip. “Good? I could’ve been at the top of your unit, easily.”

  “I was near the top of my unit. You think you could have bested me?”

  “What is this ‘could have’? I can beat you now.”

  “In what exactly, Frostbringer? Speed?”

  “Sure.”

  “Swordsmanship?”

  “If I put my mind to it.”

  “Escaping Godolia?”

  A hesitation. “I could have done that on my own.”

  “Really.”

  “Really,” she says, then shakes her head. “No, that’s a lie. But I’ve thought about it, and you could’ve. Easily. Walked straight out of there in your Windup, hopped out wherever you pleased. So why didn’t you, Glitch? Why did you stay?”

  I smile slightly. “I needed somewhere to run to. Someone.”

  “So you’re saying you needed me?”

  She is teasing me, I know it, but I only look at her and say, “Without a doubt, Eris.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You want your entire existence to be a thorn in the Zeniths’ sides, don’t you, Glitch?”

  “Or a blade.”

  “You just want to tell them to bite you.”

  “And bite them back.”

  “And spit on them at their funerals.”

  “Eris, if Jenny’s plan works, there will be nothing left to spit on.”

  “That’s dark,” she muses, grinning broadly now. “Well, dance on their graves, then.”

  “I think I might need a few more lessons,” I say.

  She laughs, flipping onto her back. “That can be arranged.” I stare at her profile for a silent five seconds before forcing myself to mirror her. She runs a hand through her hair. “So that’s what you’re always dreaming about? Godolia’s death and whatever other destructive shit you’re always saying so eloquently?”

  “We both know I would not wake up screaming if I dreamed of Godolia’s downfall.”

  She goes still next to me, ceasing the fiddling with her hair. I feel her smile di
ssipate, its warmth leached from the air, feel her eyes on my temple as she tilts her head toward me. I search for the ceiling again.

  “So tell me about it,” she says.

  “About what?”

  “Silvertwin, Sona,” Eris says, voice dropped to a whisper now. She flips onto her side again, and before I can shift my head away, she wraps her finger in a coil of my hair and tugs sharply, forcing me to look in her direction. “You can talk to me.”

  “You know the story, Eris,” I say evenly, resisting the urge to look away, to bolt.

  “I don’t know yours.” Her fingers are still in my hair, her eyes off mine, drawn low, watching herself slowly wind the curl around her nail. “Come on.”

  “It hardly matters now,” I say, though it does, much more than I want it to. “I’m not the same person.”

  “Isn’t that why it matters?”

  When I do not answer, she yanks my hair again. I let it happen, then look at her, deadpan.

  “That hurt.”

  “Funny.”

  “They did not take away my sense of humor, at least.”

  Her eyes immediately darken. “Is that what you meant? When you said you’re different now?”

  “You did not think me human when we first met.”

  “Don’t, Sona,” she snaps, propping herself onto her forearm. I let her glare thread ice through me as her head leans over mine.

  “You didn’t.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  I look past the shell of her ear, up to the black of the ceiling. My smile is idle and dry. “Precisely the point, Eris. I cannot.”

  “And what do I think of you now, then? Since you know everything.”

  “You think the same. But you are trying not to, Eris, and I … I did not think that anyone would ever try for me,” I reply, ignoring the heat curling in my throat. My voice is rising. “But there are flaws in your attempts. You are trying to ignore all these pieces of me. Pieces Godolia put here, but they are still me now, and I just … I obsess over them. I try to pick them out, pluck them apart. I am literally so intertwined with them that their removal would kill me. I tried to convince myself I was not what I am when I woke after the Mods surgery. I looked in the mirror, covered my eye, and told myself over and over again that I was human. I do the same now. It is madness, and you making me feel that I’m … it only feeds it. I … I don’t want you to get wrapped up in my delusion, too, Eris. It is not fair to you.”