The Cyborg Tinkerer

by Meg LaTorre

  “Is it everything you expected?” Rora asked. “The circus, I mean.”

  “I had no expectations,” Gwen said, carefully.

  Rora’s brows furrowed. “Not even from the rumors?” She smiled, her eyes growing distant. “When I joined, I was convinced costumes and props were implanted along with cyborg parts.”

  “So, you’re saying you don’t have a retractable slackline up your sleeve?” Gwen sighed. “I must say, I’m disappointed.”

  “No, but I have something far better.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll just have to wait to find out.”

  Despite herself, Gwen smiled. “I’d heard little of Cirque du Borge before I started working as a ship tinkerer.”

  As the next song began, Rora gently pulled Gwen into the dance steps with her cyborg hand—steps that were far less complicated than the previous song. Thank her lucky stars.

  “The people who spoke of the circus always seemed to be the kind you wouldn’t want to take home to your mother—smugglers, thieves, swords for hire,” Gwen began. “They whispered of cyborgs the size of mountains who could spin planets atop their robotic fingertips.”

  Rora made a face as though she’d bitten into a lemon.

  “I never believed such things,” Gwen continued. “But I did hear of the infamous ringleader who could bend cyborg beasts to his will, magicians who could pluck your soul straight from your chest, firebreathers who need no torch.” She looked straight into Rora’s brown eyes then. “Acrobats who could tumble into your heart.”

  According to the manufacturer from the line to get into the circus on Anchorage, the rumor had actually been about tumbling between the sheets. But Rora didn’t need to know that.

  It worked like a charm.

  Smiling brightly, Rora pulled Gwen close enough that her breasts pressed against Gwen’s waist as they moved across the dance floor.

  I’ve still got it.

  When the announcement of several more groups of performers entering the hall interrupted the music, throngs of people seeming to enter all at once, Gwen and Rora slowed to a stop and stood side by side.

  Leaning toward Rora, Gwen said, “What brought you to the circus?”

  “The same reason as most.” Rora’s eyes fixed on the performers descending the stairs in a flurry of bright skirts and flashing gears. “Desperation.”

  Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Were you an illegal recruit, too? Or was I the rare exception to lawbreaking, given my unfortunate intimacy with the Reaper?”

  Rora eyed the performers around them. Although the music had stopped as the announcer chimed name after name of people descending the stairs, couples spoke in hushed tones amongst themselves, filling the room with a whispered chatter. No one was close enough to hear them. “So far as I can count, there have been less than ten recruits since the Cyborg Prohibition Law was put in place.”

  Breaking the law was punishable by a lifetime sentence in prison or a swift execution for both the surgeon and patient—depending on the mood of the judge. How had a circus known for flaunting its cyborg performers gone unnoticed after making ten new cyborgs?

  “I joined the circus two years ago,” Rora said, confirming Gwen’s suspicions. “After the law had been in place.”

  “What made you want to join?”

  “I…” Rora faltered, her voice wavering. Until this moment, the woman had never seemed unsure of anything—least of all, herself. “I didn’t learn how to perform at Cirque du Borge, like many of the performers. I was a gymnast for Redwood Conservatory.”

  Unable to help herself, Gwen blanched.

  Not only was Rora a fucking lady, but she’d also attended one of the Union’s best all-girls boarding schools?

  Well, shit.

  Had they not met at the circus, Gwen’s and Rora’s circles would never have intersected. Rora far outranked Gwen in every sense of the definition.

  Rora didn’t seem to notice Gwen swaying like a drunkard in a privy, still in shock over the discovery of her schooling, because she kept speaking in a low tone.

  “I’d made it onto the school’s elite gymnastics team a few years before graduation. That year, there was a competition to perform for the emperor. And it’s my dream, you see, to perform for him and secure patronage.

  “My team was selected along with several other groups of performers. A few weeks before the performance for the emperor, there was an event for school board members and wealthy donors, which was meant to raise funds for the school. I performed the very same routine with my gymnastics team, and… I broke my wrist. The bone snapped in two. With the limitations on surgery, the doctors said I’d never have full function again, and I could no longer perform.” Her eyes darkened, growing distant. “My parents spent so many years paying for me to go to the top schools with the best athletics. I couldn’t bear the look in their eyes, knowing that had been my last performance.”

  “I’m sure they would understand,” Gwen began, thinking of her parents who, despite living on a conservative planet, had encouraged her to try new things—even try a line of work that meant leaving her family and home behind.

  Rora laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know my parents. Without my wrist, I was worthless to them. They had made preparations for a quiet marriage to a lord in the country. To marry off their disgraced daughter who wasn’t strong enough to compete.” When she shook her head, strands of hair fell loose from her bun. “Sometimes, I’m thankful I can’t remember.” When she sighed, the sound filled with something akin to regret. “I wish the hurt and anger would go away along with the memories, but it doesn’t. Somehow, I can still hold on to a grudge, but I can’t remember the color of their eyes.”

  The Forgetting.

  Having been so preoccupied with learning her new role, Gwen had all but forgotten the cyborg curse.

  Her heart thumped against her ribs. How soon would she start losing her memories?

  Swallowing back the fear tightening her chest, she reached out, taking hold of Rora’s hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” She squeezed Rora’s hand in what she hoped was reassurance. When she was about to let go, Rora’s eyes found hers, and she closed her fingers around Gwen’s.

  “There’s no way you could have known.” Rora bit her lip. “I wasn’t ready to stop performing. It was all I’d known. My studies were a joke—a simple education in etiquette with signed documents saying I’d taken my writing, mathematics, and homemaking courses, when all I’d ever done was rehearse endlessly. I wasn’t about to go quietly to the country and have some man I’d met once at a gala fill my belly with his seed. So, I joined the circus. As each day passes, I can remember less and less of the woman I was before. But hearing about the competition to perform for the emperor… it feels like the stars have realigned to give me a second chance to get a patron after all.”

  “If anyone can secure one of the top spots to perform for the emperor, you will.” Gwen knew nothing of judging performances or how different acts could be compared against one another. Having been so busy tinkering, she hadn’t actually seen Rora rehearse. And she’d only seen her perform the once. But the woman’s eyes held passion, mingling with a fiery determination.

  “Thank you,” Rora said. “So… what was your family like?”

  “My parents and siblings live on Orthodocks,” Gwen said. “They run the House of Timber. It’s a woodworking business.”

  For a long moment, she thought about leaving it there and not telling Rora the truth about her family’s history. But she’d already raised a royal middle finger to the emperor and Union by becoming a cyborg. What was the point of hiding her past now? Not to mention, Rora had just opened up to Gwen.

  “My family didn’t support the emperor,” Gwen admitted. “And we lost everything in the process—lands, titles, social standing. Everything but the ability to start again.”

  Ten years ago, when the emperor emerged with his armies, the Grimm family was given a choice—
support the charismatic emperor’s rise to power or risk his wrath if he gained control over the Crescent Star System. When the emperor’s armies returned after he’d been inaugurated, every noble family who hadn’t supported him was stripped of power and their entire staff executed. Gwen and her family had been forced to watch as servants, butlers, and the people they had grown up with and thought as family were gutted like animals.

  Then they had been thrown out onto the street with nothing.

  Homeless, friendless, and disgraced, Gwen’s parents had found a way to protect her and her siblings. More than that, they’d found a way to rebuild.

  “I’m sorry for what happened to your family,” Rora said. “I heard the emperor’s soldiers weren’t merciful to many noble families.”

  No, they weren’t.

  “But maybe it wasn’t his fault,” Rora continued. “According to the emperor’s letter to the Mistress, it was the Union Council who pushed for the Cyborg Prohibition Law, and maybe it was the Council who’d pushed for such harsh measures against noble families. Now, the circus has—we have—the chance to change the Union for the better. We can show the emperor and the Union Council there is nothing to fear. Cyborgs aren’t mindless super soldiers, but people with gifts. Gifts that can contribute to society.”

  Memories of her family’s staff being murdered in the muddy street filled Gwen’s mind. Clenching her fist, she willed the flames of her anger to cool. Everyone was capable of change and human decency, weren’t they? Perhaps the emperor and the Union Council did want to make the Union a more accepting place.

  She sure as fuck hoped so for the day when her contract with the circus was up.

  Taking a breath, she swallowed back her skepticism as she watched childlike hope fill Rora’s eyes. “If anyone can change a politician’s heart, it’s you.”

  Rora’s gaze was a glimmer of moonlight at the bottom of a deep well, and Gwen could feel her heart reaching toward it.

  The music picked up again after droves of people had been announced. Slowly, they started to dance again. As they moved, they were so close that Gwen could feel the quickening of Rora’s breath as her breasts heaved against her corset. Gradually, they slowed to a sway at the center of the dance floor beneath the massive chandelier.

  Couples moved around them in dances far more graceful than theirs. But Gwen couldn’t see them anymore.

  All she saw were lips the color of a deep red rose, and hair the color of ebony wood. Though it was far, far softer than anything Gwen had touched in her parents’ woodworking shop. Slowly, she reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Rora’s ear.

  Rora’s gaze slid from Gwen’s eyes to her lips. The gymnast’s body shifted against hers as she stood on toes, her breasts pressing beneath Gwen’s. Desire filled Gwen, making her dizzy. She wanted to slip her hands down Rora’s dress and run her fingers over her nipples until they peaked.

  Abandoning caution, Gwen leaned her head down. As she did, she was met with the scent of roses.

  Before their lips met, the doors to the room slammed shut.

  They paused, looking up.

  At the top of the stairs, the golden announcer had been pushed to the side as watchmen stationed themselves in front of all the doors and windows. Dozens of them lined the room, covering every inch of the walls.

  The music teetered to a stop as the musicians looked up, irritation plain on their faces. Watchmen rounded up servants, ushering them through guarded exits. Musicians called loudly, insisting their instruments couldn’t be left behind as they, too, were towed from the room. Then the watchmen barred the doors.

  It was then Gwen recalled Bastian’s words.

  Everything isn’t as it seems.

  “What’s going on?” Rora whispered, a sharp fear in her voice.

  The performers lingering in the corners or alcoves of the room were ushered onto the dance floor. Soon, Gwen’s arms rubbed against Rora’s and many other people around her. If not for her ridiculous skirt, she would have been pressed by bodies on all sides as the crowd shuffled inward.

  As she looked around the room, above the heads and top hats of those around her, she noticed the look of bewilderment in the faces of all the performers—all except Bastian. Standing on the stage the musicians had occupied not long ago, he stood beside the Mistress and show management team, his face devoid of emotion.

  More watchmen stood at attention in front of the stage, creating a barrier between it and the performers.

  “Good evening,” the Mistress began in a velvety voice. “Thank you all for coming out tonight.”

  The hushed whispers tapered off as the Mistress spoke, and the room seemed to reverberate with tense silence.

  “At Cirque du Borge, we pride ourselves not only in our dedication, but our style, and we are excited for tonight’s events.” The Mistress stopped, assessing the hundreds of performers crammed onto the dance floor. When her eyes fell on Gwen, the look was cold enough to make a wolf shiver. “Before we have our announcement, will our circus staff in attendance please join me on stage?”

  Everyone around craned their necks to look at Gwen.

  Rora squeezed Gwen’s hand before letting go.

  She thought of all the things she could say to reassure Rora, but no words came. Only Bastian’s warning held weight in her mind.

  You have an important job ahead this evening. Prepare yourself.

  Was this what he’d been warning her about? What did he know? What exactly was going on here?

  Slowly, Gwen nodded to Rora in farewell and made her way forward. The crowd did their best to shuffle aside and make a pathway for her, but the cage of her dress bent dangerously in, near to snapping, as she walked. Nearby, there was more shuffling.

  Several other circus staff appeared and walked up the stairs, standing behind Bastian and the Mistress. Gwen did likewise, following them up and forming a line.

  As the Mistress spoke of the history of the circus, Gwen tried to ignore the weight of the performers’ eyes as they studied her and the other staff.

  “We are excited to kick off the competition,” the Mistress said, jerking Gwen’s attention back to the present. “As you know, the circus has hit hard times since the Prohibition Law ten years ago. Gradually, the planets that once welcomed us with open arms—hosting our entire circus at their expense—have closed their doors to our show. As a result, Cirque du Borge will no longer host its large cast and will be eliminating performances that don’t meet our standards.”

  Gwen’s mind reeled. Was she firing people at a ball?

  The Mistress continued over the murmurs of the crowd. “The emperor has invited the circus to Allegiant, and invitations from His Imperial Highness aren’t optional. So, not only will you compete to claim one of the top ten acts to attend the emperor, but you will be competing to remain as part of our renowned circus. Those who don’t make the cut will have their contracts terminated.”

  Gasps echoed throughout the ballroom.

  The word “terminated” held a weight behind it that Gwen didn’t understand. Celeste didn’t mean she’d kill the cyborgs, did she? By the looks of horror on every performer’s face, Gwen couldn’t think of what else it would imply.

  “Circus staff and management are exempt from the competition and will remain as part of Cirque du Borge—so long as they abide by our rules.” The Mistress gestured first to Bastian, then to Gwen and the line of men and women behind her, the long sleeves of her gown brushing the stage floor.

  “There will be three contests before we journey to the emperor’s planet, Covenant. These contests will test your agility, determination, and skill.

  “Know the path won’t be easy. You will be tested like never before. I cannot guarantee everyone who participates will still have breath in their lungs at the completion of each competition.”

  Gwen blinked.

  What the actual fuck?

  “For those who complete the competition but do not make it into the top ten acts, I
personally guarantee work and passage off Grandstand,” the Mistress continued. “One performer from each act must participate, and you may choose a different representative for each competition if your act is a group number. But know—the entire act will share their fate.”

  “You can’t do this!” someone yelled from the dance floor. “We signed a contract for thirteen years.”

  Several performers rushed toward the stage, shouting over one another. But the watchmen were ready.

  Gwen wasn’t a stranger to death. As a tinkerer on trading vessels, she had seen plenty of people die between the stars as pirates attempted to board their ship. Countless times, she’d had to fight for her own life.

  But as a watchman swung his wooden baton, bashing in the head of a man pushing toward the stage, Gwen’s eyes fixed on the trail of blood. The scarlet drops hung in the air for an impossibly long moment before splattering the stage and the circus staff on it.

  The hall was so quiet, you could hear the gasping breaths of the performers. Those rushing toward the stage stopped before slowly retreating.

  The message was clear.

  The Mistress was untouchable, and the cyborgs were expendable.

  What could Celeste possibly hope to gain by hosting some life-or-death competition? It was madness.

  “One more thing,” the Mistress said. “If you refuse to compete, your contract will be terminated on the spot. Break a leg.”

  The watchmen ushered the crowd toward a set of double doors at the back of the room. Folding her hands in front of her, the Mistress watched as the performers dressed in all their finery were ushered toward where the first contest must be taking place.

  Gwen scanned the crowd for Rora, hoping to catch sight of her dark hair. Toward the back of the crowd, she spotted her. Dark eyes met Gwen’s. Instead of the fear she’d expected to see laced through Rora’s gaze, there was only betrayal.

  “You knew,” she seemed to say.

  Shaking her head, Gwen moved forward. She wasn’t sure what she planned to do. It wasn’t like she could push through the wall of watchmen and make her way through the crowd to Rora. Not before those massive doors slammed shut.