The Cyborg Tinkerer

by Meg LaTorre

  By the time Gwen thought to check her pocket watch, courtesy of her stomach alerting her to the passing of time, supper had long since passed.

  I’ve spent an entire day in this library and still haven’t found the books I need.

  As she was unwilling to leave her work, Bastian left and returned with a tray of food for them both. They ate in silence before returning to the bookshelves. Rather, she ate in silence, and he pushed food around the tray.

  “When’s the last time you ate?” Gwen eyed Bastian’s hollow cheeks and eyes. He’d always been a thin man, but his tall frame had become even wirier since she’d first met him. His suit hung more loosely now, and his knuckles stood out starkly on thin hands.

  Regardless of his size, it was obvious he was a handsome man, and one to be reckoned with.

  “I am eating.”

  Gwen groaned internally. Where was the maternal type when you needed one?

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she began cautiously. “I’ve seen restrictors back when I worked on the ships. Sometimes, it seemed talking helped them with addressing their issues around food…”

  Stars, I’m not the right person for this job.

  How did you talk to someone who didn’t want to acknowledge anything was wrong? More importantly, how did you show someone who refused to eat that they were harming themselves? Food was necessary to survival. But if he was restricting, then there had to be some reason or deep wound from his past that had led to this. What was it he saw in himself—or didn’t see? What harmful thought process had been instilled in him, perhaps as a child? Could she possibly help him help himself?

  “What are you, my physician?” Bastian said coolly. “I don’t need you to psychoanalyze me.”

  “Fine.”

  Clearly, he wasn’t ready to talk. And some small part of Gwen was relieved. What in the galaxy could she say, anyway?

  To her surprise, her relief mingled with a growing sense of disappointment. Had she truly thought he’d confide in her? More than that, why did she want him to? Despite her initial dislike of the man—who always seemed to act more like a beast despite his formal speech—they’d become a sort of battlefield comrades. The kind that bonded over a hardship that could never be spoken aloud; a hardship that marked you for life.

  Talk to him. The thought slid neatly into her awareness, and she slammed a metaphorical boot onto it. A friendship can’t be made without one person taking the first step.

  Could she possibly want a friendship with the infamous Cirque du Borge ringleader? The notion seemed ridiculous. And share her secrets? They could barely share a meal.

  Returning to her work, she scanned shelf after shelf of books. Anything that seemed promising, she brought down the ladder, which was attached to a track that rolled across the floor. She was careful to mark where she pulled the books from. Once she had a hefty stack, she hauled the books to a nearby table.

  After flipping through countless titles that were dead ends, she looked to see if Bastian had made any progress. But rather than seeing him beside a stack of books and scanning a nearby bookshelf, he lounged on a chaise lounge chair with a small book in his hand. The very same book he’d been reading in the garden.

  As she walked closer, peering over his shoulder, she read the title: Hard of Desire.

  A laugh escaped her lips.

  Turning, he tried to pocket the book in his jacket, but he missed several times.

  “Are you reading a romance novel?”

  “What if I was?”

  “Hey.” Gwen raised her hands. “I’m not judging. I like a decent amount of smut in my books. Keeps things interesting.” Bastian raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her sincerity. “It’s just not something I would have expected from you.”

  Standing, he smoothed his pants and straightened his coat. “Assumptions are as pointless and harmful as stereotypes, Ms. Grimm. Surely you should know as much, given your choice of vocation and bedfellows.”

  “Why do you care who warms my bed?” She crossed her arms, smirking as she thought of what had happened in his bedroom a few hours before. “Could that be jealousy I’m detecting?”

  “I’m jealous of no one,” he replied smoothly. “Happiness should be found within ourselves. Nothing good can come from comparison.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So that’s why you’re starving yourself? Because you’re so happy on the inside?”

  He froze, his gaze growing utterly cold. “You go too far. What I do is none of your business.” Slowly, he lowered himself back onto the lounge chair, returning his attention to his book. “Just like your sleeping with Rora is none of mine.”

  Heat blossomed in her cheeks. “If you’re so keen on respecting another person’s privacy, it would be difficult to notice such things.”

  “Do you honestly think you two have been subtle?” He barked a laugh as his eyes snapped up to her. “The whole circus practically knows. All the glances during rehearsals and your dancing at the ball—it’s obvious for anyone with eyes the two of you are fond of each other.”

  Her thoughts careened to a stop.

  They hadn’t been that obvious… had they? Well, one thing was certain. She wasn’t about to tell him they hadn’t slept together yet. But damn it, he was right about one thing—she was falling hard for the acrobat.

  “Piss off,” was all she could manage to reply.

  “Eloquent as ever, Ms. Grimm.”

  “That’s Ms. Fucking Grimm to you.” She moved toward the shelves but turned on a heel. “And just what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Look for some books for stars’ sake. You haven’t pulled a single one off a bookshelf.”

  Crossing his legs, he didn’t look up from where he sat on the lounge chair. “My job was to get you here, Ms. Grimm. It’s your job to do the research.”

  “You suffering, lazy asshole,” she hissed. “How do you expect me to… you know what? Never mind.” Once again, she started to leave, only to turn back and glare at his novel. “I hope the sex scenes suck.”

  Stomping over to the pile of books, she picked up several and nearly threw herself onto the antique carpet in her fury.

  Why did he get under her skin like that? Stars, he was so infuriating.

  For a while, she thought he might have left to cool off. But the smell of shoe polish and sage filled her nostrils. Gaze snapping up, she was surprised to see him lowering himself to sit beside her.

  “You are right,” he said in his usual formal tone. “What you and Ms. Lockwood do is none of my business.” He cleared his throat. “Regardless of my involvement with the show management team, I still think you deserve happiness. All of the performers do.”

  She exhaled noisily, recognizing the white flag for what it was.

  How had she gotten to the place where cyborgs had become a sort of family?

  Her thoughts strayed to her childhood on Orthodocks and the family she’d once had. Fear seized her chest as she realized there were more and more gaps in her memory. She still couldn’t remember her parents’ faces, and even their silhouettes had faded from her mind’s eye. And now, she could no longer recall their names.

  Tears pricked her human eye, which she roughly scraped away with the back of her hand. Her cyborg eye whirred in confusion, uncertain what to do with such human emotions.

  “Have you ever thought about what it might be like if we didn’t grow up in the Union?” she said at last. “Sometimes I wonder if life would be better outside of the Crescent Star System, especially after the Cyborg Prohibition Law.”

  When he didn’t reply, she looked over at him. His gaze was distant as he stared past the bookshelves in front of them.

  “It’s not.” His voice was soft, as though a louder volume might dissipate the strange energy forming between them.

  Her eyebrows rose.

  “I remember pieces of my life before—more than most, I suppose. Enough to remind me why I’m here.”

  As always, mention of the Forgetting
sent ice through her veins.

  “And why are you here?”

  Bastian turned to look at her.

  “Are you here to make a name for yourself or to protect the performers?” she asked. “I don’t think you can have both.”

  Indecision swirled in his eyes. “I don’t know. But I can’t remain idle and watch all of my recruits be butchered to death. It isn’t right. They deserve better than this.”

  “So do you.”

  “All I know is that to save the many, I must hurt a few.” He sighed wearily. “If I’m to protect any of the performers, some of the performers must be sacrificed for the greater good.”

  She harrumphed. “That sounds like a cop-out to me. A way of avoiding responsibility in all of this.”

  He didn’t respond.

  They sat on the floor in silence for some time before she finally stood and extended a hand to him. “Let’s get back to our search.”

  He studied her hand for a moment before taking it and standing.

  Returning to the table, she gestured to one stack of books. “Read through those. Please. If we have any hope of finding anything useful, I’ll need the help. Tell me if you find information on installation or upkeep. I also want to know more about how these chips in our brains work. I’ll start over here.” She waved at a different pile.

  A shiver crept up her spine at the thought of her checkup with Celeste.

  Hours later, Gwen’s head swam almost as much as the words on the pages as she scanned book after book. It had to be late into the night by now.

  “I found something.”

  Bastian’s words yanked her from her thoughts.

  “This one is a textbook about cyborg foot re-installations. There’s text in here about how to proceed if the first unit was installed improperly.”

  Nearly leaping from her chair, she stood and dashed to his side, snatching the book from his hand. “Yes! Just what I needed for Marzanna. I could kiss you, you bastard.” She hesitated, realizing what she’d said. “Well, we already did that, I suppose.”

  She plopped onto the floor, studying the index before flipping to the pages she sought. “Marzanna’s foot wasn’t installed properly. It lags when she moves too fast, and I’ve seen the unit drag when she’s rehearsing. I tried rewiring the unit, but without a manual or some type of instruction guide, it’s all guesswork.”

  As she scanned the text, her heart froze. She turned to Bastian. “When’s the next competition?”

  His brows drew together. “I shouldn’t be telling—”

  “I don’t have time to pussyfoot around this,” she interrupted. “Someone’s life is at stake. When does the second competition start?”

  He sighed heavily. “Tomorrow.”

  For a moment, she forgot how to breathe as dread tightened her chest.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She licked suddenly dry lips. “I might have killed her.”

  “Who?” he asked. “Marzanna?”

  She managed a nod. “I have to get to her—before the competition. If I don’t fix the wiring before the machine gets too hot, it might short-circuit. If it does, she could…”

  Die.

  Bastian removed a pocket watch from his coat, which hung on a long chain. His features went suddenly pale.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s nearly dawn.” He looked up to her then, his eyes wide. “They’ve likely already been brought to the theater for the second competition.”

  Leaping to her feet, she bolted down the hallway, her heart slamming in her ears.

  She had to get to them before the competition started.

  Behind her, Bastian’s footsteps pounded in time with hers. But she feared it was already far too late.

  Chapter 16

  There was a loud bang, and Rora opened her eyes.

  “Get up.” A masked watchman hefted an electric lantern at the threshold of her room. “You’ve been summoned.”

  In his other hand, he held a baton. The threat was as plain as a Black Hole. Calls from additional watchmen echoed down the hallway as other performers were roused from their rooms.

  Standing, Rora rubbed her eyes. As she did, she noticed for the first time the second masked watchman in her doorway held a key. Had they unlocked her bedroom door? No one was supposed to have keys to the dormitories other than the performers themselves.

  What else has the Mistress lied to us about?

  Normally, she didn’t think much of the watchmen’s attire. But as she studied the usual black pants and button-up shirt with two pistols strapped to his back and a sword at one hip, she couldn’t help but notice how heavily armed they were for a circus guard. Not to mention, they never stepped out of line and never spoke to the performers outside of what was strictly necessary to perform their job. Ever.

  How much did the Mistress pay the hired soldiers for their obedience? It had to be a hefty paycheck to wordlessly usher cyborgs to their deaths.

  Rora slipped into her shoes.

  Since the first competition, she’d slept in her performance gear every single night. She refused to be caught off guard a second time. Therefore, she didn’t hurry to grab clothes and get dressed as the watchmen ushered her out into the hallway.

  Dozens of other performers filtered out of their rooms in the dormitory wing and joined Rora in the hallway. Everyone had the same question on their lips.

  Was the second competition about to begin?

  “Can it be time already?” Akio whispered as he and Marzanna joined Rora in the hallway. “I swear, it’s only been… what? Two weeks since the last contest?”

  Dread weighted Rora’s tongue, and she couldn’t reply.

  “It’s my turn,” Marzanna said to Akio as they neared the theater. “You competed in the first competition. I should go this time.”

  Akio shook his head. “Not with your foot. That’s the worst idea I’ve heard all day.”

  Rora’s brows furrowed. “The day just started.”

  Marzanna stifled a chuckle as the performers around them fell into a strange, hushed silence.

  “Regardless,” Akio whispered. “I can compete again. You’re my only family. Let me do this.”

  But even as he spoke, Rora could see sweat beading on his temples.

  They’d never spoken about what they’d had to do during the first competition, but she knew the obstacle course had deeply distressed her friend.

  She swallowed thickly.

  The last competition had brought about the death of three cyborgs. What could possibly be in store for them today? Who would meet their end at the hands of the competition—and the tinkerer who took their parts?

  The hands I want all over me, she thought, and then shook herself. Focus.

  “No,” Marzanna said firmly. “You went last time. It’s my turn to face the crazy.”

  Reluctantly, Akio nodded.

  When they entered the theater, Celeste Beckett, the Mistress of Cirque du Borge and Keeper of Beasts, stood at center stage and watched the performers as they were ushered into the room. Although it took a while for the performers to filter into the theater, there were noticeably fewer people than there had been a few weeks ago.

  Watchmen stationed themselves around the theater at the exits.

  “Welcome to the second competition.” Celeste crossed her arms, the tight leather jacket creasing as she tapped her red-manicured nails against her lower lip. She was dressed in black leather from neck to toes, her heeled leather boots impractical for anyone—especially the Keeper of Beasts. Rumor had it she used her heels to keep misbehaving animals in check.

  Why was she introducing this particular competition?

  Matthieu Eaves, the set designer, had introduced the first competition, which had been an obstacle course of his making. What could the second competition involve? Something with animals?

  The doors to the theater slammed shut, echoing in the room as whispers tapered off. All eyes were on center stage.

 
; “The first competition tested your agility. Now, your determination will be put to the test.” Celeste’s eyes swept over the room. “For this competition, performers have a single objective: to locate and bring back the red dragon.”

  The silence that fell was deafening. It was so complete that Rora heard the distinct patter of water hitting the floor.

  As though someone had just wet themselves.

  Fear knotted her stomach. This was utter madness and worse than the first competition. Dragons regularly attacked the city of Apparatus. Half of the time, citizens were putting out fires and repairing buildings the dragons destroyed during raids. How in the galaxy were a bunch of performers supposed to capture a wild dragon?

  “Like cyborgs, the dragons have been misunderstood,” Celeste continued.

  I’ll say.

  “They have been exiled to the planet of Grandstand, same as us. But now we are going to bring them into the fold.

  “The dragon lives in a cave on the tallest mountain beyond the forest. Your job is to subdue the creature and bring it back. The performer who brings it back alive wins.

  “There are no official teams. But given the nature of this competition and the challenges you will face, any performers who work together to bring the dragon back will not be selected for the lottery and be allowed a shared victory.

  “In addition, you are to select a single representative from your acts to participate in today’s competition. It may be the same performer as last time or someone else. But one cyborg must go on behalf of the act, and everyone will share their fate.

  “As was the case for the first competition, you will be judged by the show management team. The losing performers will have their names entered into the lottery, and thirteen acts will be selected for contract termination.

  “Once the thirty-six performers have been selected to participate in the competition, you will exit the building and receive your supplies. The dragon’s cave is less than a day’s march from here. Watchmen will then escort you to the forest at the edge of the city, after which time you have until sunset tomorrow to bring it here.”

  The Mistress paused, studying the audience with narrowed eyes. “Should any of you be tempted not to return, remember that the remaining performers from your respective acts will automatically have terminated contracts and be selected for harvesting. And if you are found in my city… you will wish for a swift end.”