The Cyborg Tinkerer

by Meg LaTorre

  But she had to do something. She had to explain she didn’t have a hand in any of this.

  Before she’d taken two steps, a hand caught her elbow.

  “Don’t.” Bastian’s voice was dangerously low as he stared ahead. “It’s too late.”

  Pulling her arm free of Bastian’s grip, she glared at the side of his head as he watched the procession.

  That’s why there was no alcohol, Gwen realized. They knew the competition was about to begin. And the herald recorded every person who walked through the door to make sure all of the performers were here.

  The watchmen forced every last performer through the door and slammed it shut behind them.

  Turning from the closed doors, Bastian looked at her, his brown eyes as emotionless as his stony expression. In a voice loud enough that the Mistress could overhear, he said, “Ms. Grimm, you will be assisting in the extraction after the competition tonight.”

  Realization dawned on her as fear sliced through her chest.

  A terminated contract didn’t mean death, not exactly. It meant the circus would reclaim its property: the cyborg implants.

  And Gwen was the person who would do it.

  Chapter 8

  Someone stepped on the hem of Rora’s pink gown.

  Lurching forward, she tried to catch herself. A man’s elbow to her cheekbone broke her fall. Fumbling, she grabbed his coat sleeve as pain glanced through her nose and teeth. Before she could right herself, more bodies pressed into her, the tidal wave moving ever forward—toward the open doorway and whatever lay beyond.

  All of Cirque du Borge’s cyborgs knew what was at stake.

  They were now fighting for their lives in this competition.

  In the fine print of every contract, there was a clause saying the circus could terminate a contract at any time for any reason. In other words, the circus could reclaim their property without explanation. Losing their implants was a gamble every cyborg in the circus had to make.

  And Gwen had known. She’d known about this competition and hadn’t told Rora.

  The betrayal stung like an electric bolt from her cyborg hand.

  So much for being a seductress. You’re the one who’s been played.

  Was that why Gwen didn’t want to go to the ball tonight? Had she known about the competition all along?

  Then why did she try to kiss me?

  Bitterness took root in Rora’s chest.

  While she was about to compete for her life, Gwen and Bastian were kicking their feet up and sipping champagne.

  As Rora passed through the doorway into a darkened room, Marzanna and Akio appeared beside her. Together, they continued toward whatever awaited them in the darkness.

  “I know the electricity sucks in this building, but why haven’t they turned on any lights?” Marzanna whispered.

  “Surprise,” Rora said. “They don’t want us seeing what’s in store until we begin.”

  The crowd in front of them slowed. Rora hadn’t noticed the man in front of her had stopped moving until she bumped into him.

  A single spotlight flicked on, revealing the set designer, Matthieu Eaves. Despite years of creating everything and anything—from the stage itself to the massive ladders, balance beams, and supporting structures—Matthieu was a man devoid of muscles, good humor, and eyebrows. The spotlight cast shadows below his eyes and hollow cheekbones.

  There was a loud snap as several more lights in the room flickered on. In front of Rora was a massive wooden wall with a single rope dangling in front of it. Beyond the wall, the room stretched endlessly. From what she could recall, this was one of the convertible amphitheaters.

  What have you created, Mr. Eaves? What’s beyond that wall?

  “Good evening, performers,” Matthieu said. “As the Mistress stated before, one performer from each act must participate. You may pick different people for each competition. But know that they compete alone. There are no teams in this contest, and the only thing you will share is the fate of the performer competing on behalf of group acts. If you are a part of a solo act, then you must compete in every competition. To win, you must beat those around you from different acts.

  “There will be three competitions in total. Tonight is the first competition. Your agility will be tested. Brute strength will do you no good here, nor will wit or a slightness of hand. You must be nimble and quick.”

  Matthieu pointed at an upper-story window above the amphitheater, where dark figures loomed in the shadows. “Our show management team is present to witness the feats of Cirque du Borge and determine your worthiness to continue.

  “Tonight, fourteen acts will be leaving our circus. Therefore, the first thirty-six performers to reach the finish line will go on to participate in the second contest. Every performer will be timed individually, and ten performers will participate in this competition at a time. Those who come in last and their entire acts will be terminated.

  “As you know, the final ten acts who survive all three competitions will go on to attend the emperor in hopes of convincing the Union Council to change the Cyborg Prohibition Law. Afterward, those performers will continue as part of Cirque du Borge. Only the best and most determined performers will remain.

  “You have one hour to prepare yourselves. Nominate your representatives wisely.”

  For several long moments, Rora forgot to breathe.

  Fourteen acts would be eliminated tonight? If one of the trapeze acts or stuntmen were eliminated, that could mean dozens of people per act would leave this building without their cyborg parts.

  Then, it clicked.

  If there were fifty acts at Cirque du Borge currently and only ten of them would perform for the emperor, that meant forty acts would be leaving the circus in the coming months.

  Rora glared at her fickle cyborg hand.

  Unlike some of the cyborgs, she could live without her hand—if it was removed properly. But could she live with taking the place of a cyborg who couldn’t live without their implants?

  From what she’d seen during rehearsals, most of the performers had visible implants, such as robotic limbs, feet, or hands. How many cyborgs depended on their implants to live?

  Finding an open space on the floor, she sat, and her friends joined her.

  Marzanna had a cyborg foot and could live without her implant. But finding work in the Union would be hard without all of their limbs, no matter what the Mistress promised to those who survived the competition and lost.

  Akio’s feet and ankles were reinforced with a cyborg implant that wasn’t visible, so far as Rora knew. He could live without those as well, but he’d have a limp and be in pain when on his feet for the rest of his life.

  Even with all of this, there was still the fact that Rora would never be able to achieve her dream of patronage or performing for the emperor without securing one of the top ten spots.

  She forced the guilt filling her empty stomach back down.

  Years ago, she’d approached the circus to escape life as a wife to a lord. She had given up something very important to get here, and she wasn’t about to go running home now. There was no choice for her.

  Eyeing the wall and then her skirts, Rora made a decision. She stepped out of her slippers and strode to Marzanna. “Unlace me.”

  Marzanna’s eyes lit with recognition. “Good thinking. Akio, start unlacing my dress, too.”

  Akio cursed under his breath. “I’d hoped you’d say that to me under different circumstances.”

  “Anyone else thinking what I’m thinking?” Marzanna said in a low tone as she loosened the laces of Rora’s dress.

  “Reading minds isn’t one of my superpowers,” Rora replied dryly.

  “This whole competition is nuts,” Marzanna whispered. “What is the Mistress thinking?”

  Rora shook her head. “All I know is we have no choice but to play her game.”

  Around them, other performers shared similar feelings in their harsh whispers.

  None of t
his made any sense. Why have the competitions? Why not simply choose the top ten acts?

  Her eyes skirted up to the figures looming behind the windows several stories above.

  Because they want us to put on a show.

  “There’s something bigger at play here,” Rora said as though speaking to herself. “I just don’t know what.”

  There wasn’t time to speculate more now. She had to keep her mind focused on one thing—winning.

  Soon, Rora and Marzanna had removed their massive ball gowns and were in their undergarments.

  Grabbing the hem of her dress, Rora pulled until the fabric tore. Creating long slices of fabric, she passed some to Marzanna, who wrapped them around the pads of her feet and hands. They didn’t know what would be out there, and while bare feet might work best for that wall, for all they know, there could be hot coals or a bed of needles on the other side. The fabric was thin protection against such things, but it was better than nothing.

  Most of the men wore shoes and trousers, lucky for them. But when they spotted Rora and Marzanna undressing, they removed vests and jackets.

  Once finished removing their extra garments, Akio and Marzanna moved off to the side, speaking animatedly. It was clear from the way they spoke that Akio had elected himself to participate in this first competition.

  When the hour was up, the watchmen ushered the fifty performers who were competing on behalf of their acts into ten lines. The remaining performers were escorted to the back of the room.

  It was then Rora realized they would be timed in groups. That meant, even if she won in her group, she wouldn’t know if she’d actually made it to the second contest until the final tally—unless she came in one of the top spots. It also meant that, if she performed beside her friends, she could potentially be the reason for them coming in last place.

  Rather than remaining in the line of performers beside Akio, Rora turned to him and said, “Good luck. I better see your sorry face on the other side.”

  Then she pushed her way to the front line where none of her friends were. She wouldn’t compete beside them.

  Abrecan appeared beside her. “Hello, dyke. So eager to start your new life as a human?”

  Rora didn’t bother explaining to him, yet again, that she had no gender preference for her partners. The moment she’d turned down his offer of “friendship” after she’d joined the circus, he’d decided she wasn’t into men. It wasn’t worth the time or energy to explain it was his cock she found undesirable. Not others.

  “I was looking for an easy win,” she said instead. “Didn’t feel like actually breaking a sweat tonight.”

  “You little cunt,” Abrecan hissed, but before he could raise a hand, one of the watchmen walked by, and the archer stood dangerously still in the line. “One way or another, you’ll leave this circus.”

  “Don’t be bitter because Ms. Grimm chose me over you,” she said, eyes ahead.

  She could practically feel him seething next to her.

  “I saw your little stunt in her office.” Turning, she looked him up and down. “You did the same thing to me when I first joined the circus. And it would appear she’s not interested in your cock either.”

  Rora didn’t trust Gwendolyn, not after tonight. But Abrecan didn’t need to know that. All that mattered was getting him off his game—and beating him.

  Veins bulged in his neck and jaw, but he didn’t have time to reply.

  One of the watchmen whistled, drawing all eyes to him. “You’ll proceed through the course in five groups, ten performers in each. All of you will be timed. Proceed on my mark.”

  The watchmen stood in two lines, forming a path toward the wooden wall and holding stopwatches on copper chains. Others took posts around the room and at the exits, preventing anyone from leaving.

  Clenching her fists, Rora tried to force blood to muscles she hadn’t stretched or warmed up. With nothing else to do, she took her position, squatting low, preparing to run toward the single rope dangling before the massive wooden wall. The section of the former stage was flat and lacked handholds. It spanned the length of ten doors across with a steep drop-off on the floor at the end of either side of it. Below must be the basement floor.

  The rope was the only way up, and ten people needed to get there first. She had to get there before Abrecan.

  The watchman standing before them raised his hand into the air. Rora held her breath and crouched low. A moment later, his arm swung down.

  The competition for their lives had begun.

  Rora dashed forward before any of the other performers had left the starting line, throwing her weight into each stride. She willed her short legs to run faster. Close behind, Abrecan gained on her. The rope was nearly within reach when he passed her, grabbed it, and pulled himself up.

  No!

  Several times, she tried to start climbing, but performers shoved her aside or pulled her down. Stumbling backward, she fell to the very back of the line.

  “Come on, Rora!” Akio’s voice was distant above the roaring frustration of her thoughts. She couldn’t think of her friends now.

  As the last person ascended the rope, Rora followed, climbing up until she was close enough to swing to the wall.

  There was no platform atop the wall, so she swung herself over, letting go of the rope and landing atop the narrow wall. Crouching, she had her first look at the course. Because that’s what it was—an obstacle course.

  Only, it clearly wasn’t one most of the cyborgs were supposed to survive.

  Below Rora was a pit of water with shards of ice. The icy pit extended for a short distance before it was cut off by another wooden wall. As she watched, two of the cyborgs—one who had an implanted shoulder and another with no visible cyborg part—plunged beneath the water where the wall was, visibly trembling.

  Rora gaped.

  Older implants couldn’t be fully submerged underwater. It would blow the mainframe or short-circuit the implant, especially if the battery was an older model. At best, submersion would leave dated implants immobile. At worst, it would kill the host from a series of electric shocks.

  Newer implants could be submerged underwater… but there was no way of knowing how old Rora’s refurbished implant was. She’d never dared test it before.

  Hesitating, Rora stared down at the pit of ice.

  Where in the galaxy had the Mistress gotten ice on such a low budget? The nearby mountains, perhaps. By the look of the two walls, it was clear she was recycling old circus sets and props for the competition.

  It looked like the only way to get past the second wall beyond the pit of icy water was to swim beneath it, which meant her muscles would be stiff and cold for what lay on the other side. If she didn’t short-circuit or die before then. The most she could hope for was to get in and out of the pit of ice as quickly as possible.

  Slowly, she rose to her feet atop the narrow wooden wall, just as she would for her balancing beam act atop the wire.

  This is going to suck.

  Then she launched herself off the wall and into the pit far below.

  Chapter 9

  Icy shards bit into her flesh.

  Rora spewed out some of the air she’d been holding. To her surprise, her feet never touched the bottom. She waited for it, perhaps too long, before kicking her way to the surface. Her arms and legs grew stiff from the cold, and she trembled violently.

  Cold bled into her implant. Her hand stiffened almost to the point of immobility, but there were no electric bolts.

  Relief washed over her as she kicked. Her implant wasn’t a complete piece of junk, after all.

  Breaking the surface of the water, she gasped. Ice tumbled out of her hair, and her entire body trembled. Clenching her jaw, she forced her legs to kick. One, then the other. As she neared the next wall, her feet touched the ground beneath the water’s surface.

  Some kind of platform the wall was anchored to?

  Taking a deep breath, she eyed the wall and plunged ben
eath the surface a second time, kicking with all her might and praying her muscles wouldn’t seize up from the cold. As she swam, she opened her eyes, trying to see in the murky ice water. But it was too dark, so she held a hand up, feeling along the wall above her as she swam. When the wall stopped, she pushed herself to the surface.

  Her teeth chattered so hard against each other that she thought they’d crack. But this wasn’t the other side of the wall. She was in the center. A bike ramp from one of their old shows had been flipped upside down and converted somehow. Where she stood was large enough for five men to huddle closely together. Only, she wasn’t surrounded by men.

  For a moment, she didn’t feel the cold as she stared at them.

  Three dead cyborgs.

  A scream tore through her throat, and she clapped a hand over her mouth as her body trembled harder. Only, this time, it wasn’t from the cold.

  Asa, the tightrope walker with a cyborg foot, a gymnast whose name Rora had never known, and Charles the stilt walker. They floated, bodies limp. Smoke didn’t trail from their bodies, but she could see blackened flesh from where their cyborg implants must have sparked.

  Rubbing away the tears from her cheeks, she accidentally scraped her skin with her cyborg hand. The pain brought her out of her foggy chill, her thoughts forming too slowly.

  Gwen’s face appeared in Rora’s mind—how radiant she’d looked in the golden gown, and how, if those had been her last moments of freedom, she would have loved to kiss the tinkerer. Even if whatever hovered between them was a lie.

  We are all liars at Cirque du Borge.

  Rora plunged back into madness.

  Feeling along the wall, she eventually made it to the other side. When she kicked up to the surface and brushed the water from her eyes, she saw three massive tubes with one end in the water and the other sticking straight up. They were attached to some platform far above.

  Heart racing, she trudged through the icy waters toward the three tubes. Her body shook violently, and it took every ounce of self-control not to stop and give in to the cold seeping into her bones.