The Cyborg Tinkerer

by Meg LaTorre

  Celeste waved a hand to the opening doors at the back of the theater. “Break a leg.”

  For a moment, Rora struggled to breathe as her head swam. She couldn’t think, let alone move. It felt as though her feet had been replaced with cinder blocks.

  Sensing this, Marzanna grabbed Rora’s elbow, pulling her toward the open doors. “Come on. Now is not the time to lose your shit. We have a competition to win.”

  Rora spared a glance back toward Akio, who was being ushered with the other performers who weren’t competing back toward the hallways.

  “Good luck,” he mouthed.

  Rora could only manage a nod. Her heart thudded a rapid melody to what must surely be her death march. In the first competition, she’d couldn’t even pass Abrecan to climb up the rope. How was she supposed to stand up to a dragon that had to be two or three times Abrecan’s size?

  The dragons of legend had supposedly been the size of war ships. The ones that remained today were little more than the size of two lions in length.

  Still, it was big enough to kill her.

  Once the thirty-six performers exited the theater, the doors were rolled back down and locked in place.

  Watchmen passed out boots, jackets, and backpacks. When Rora received her backpack, she glanced inside, noting water, food supplies, and… Was that climbing gear? There was rope, grappling hooks, and other supplies she couldn’t identify.

  By the looks of what was in the bag, the circus wasn’t concerned about the performers spending a night in the wilderness. Had the dragon killed off most of the predators?

  Heels tapped against cobblestones, and Celeste emerged from a side door of the theater, coming to stand before them.

  “One more thing,” Celeste began. “Due to the dangerous nature of this particular competition, the show management team has revised how contracts will be terminated for the remainder of the competitions. Should any of you die in the attempt of capturing the dragon, your performance act will automatically be selected for termination—so long as the bodies are brought back or located by our cleanup crew. If thirteen people lose their lives to this competition, there will be no lottery in this round. Understood?”

  Across the group of thirty-six performers, dozens of eyes widened.

  But Abrecan… he smiled, his gaze shifting to Rora and Marzanna.

  Celeste had just given Abrecan and his followers a reason to pick them off one by one.

  The performers shouldered packs and followed the line of watchmen into the palace’s courtyard. At the gate, there was a table of weapons, consisting of bows, swords, and spears.

  Pushing forward, Abrecan grabbed a bow as tall as he was and a matching set of arrows. The other performers rushed the table afterward. By the time Rora and Marzanna made it to the front, there were two spears left. Two spears to protect them from the dragon and whatever else might be lurking in the forest—human or beast.

  Fantastic.

  As they walked toward the outskirts of the city, surrounded by watchmen, the sun crept above the horizon.

  I can’t give up now. There are only two competitions left.

  She was so close to meeting the emperor and fulfilling her lifelong dream of securing patronage. Two more competitions, and she’d be home free. Soon, she would prove to everyone she was the best performer at Cirque du Borge. And with the way things were going with Gwen, she might have a new hand in no time, too.

  But she couldn’t help the feeling that the tinkerer had Rora wrapped around her finger, rather than the other way around. After Gwen had showed up at Rora’s room and explained what had happened at the ball, Rora hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.

  Forcing the beautiful tinkerer from her thoughts, Rora tried to focus on what lay ahead.

  Thinking fast, she came up with a desperate plan.

  Slowly, she made her way over to a small group of acrobats who weren’t allied with Abrecan or his followers.

  “Join us,” she whispered. “Our odds are better together than apart.”

  “Our odds suck,” Sara, one of the acrobats, said.

  “Better than each of us individually against a dragon.” Rora watched Abrecan strut confidently at the head of the group beside the watchmen. “At the very least, we can watch each other’s backs until we make it to the cliffs.”

  There weren’t official teams, but it couldn’t hurt to form alliances with other performers. Even if they did somehow manage to subdue the dragon, Rora and Marzanna would be hard-pressed to bring it back to Apparatus—awake or unconscious. Not to mention, the dragon wasn’t the only beast in these parts.

  Sara remained silent for an impossibly long time.

  “Fine,” she said at last. “We’ll join you as we travel through the forest. But when it comes to the dragon, I’ll fight you for it. I’m not coming back without that scaly beast.”

  Rora nodded. “We’ll see.”

  When they neared the city’s limit, she slowed, her friends and new allies doing likewise. Abrecan and his followers went ahead of them into the line of trees. She’d need to keep them where she could see them. She didn’t fancy an arrow between her shoulders.

  Before he disappeared, Abrecan turned around and smiled broadly at her. Then he strode into the forest, the others in his group yipping and cheering like wild dogs.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “Everyone, keep your eyes peeled and stay alert. We have more than just animals to worry about in this forest.”

  Sara sniffed. “They are animals.”

  Rora shifted her pack. “No arguments there. But to beat them, we might have to be animals, too.”

  She wondered just what she’d do in the name of self-preservation—and to achieve her dream of patronage.

  Taking a deep breath, she strode ahead of the group and into the forest.

  It was time to find a dragon.

  Chapter 17

  As Gwen ran up the staircase and into the hallway, a hand caught her arm.

  “What are you doing?” Bastian hissed, pulling her behind a curtain as watchmen marched down a nearby hallway. “Are you trying to get us both caught?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Marzanna’s life is in danger.”

  He didn’t release her arm even after the watchmen’s footsteps faded into the distance. “It’s too late. The performers are gone.”

  She growled even as her heart plummeted into her boots. “Gone where?”

  Slowly, he peered from behind the curtain before striding down empty halls with her in tow.

  “Their mission is to find and bring back the red dragon—the beast that keeps attacking the city—by sunset tomorrow.” He pulled her into the gardens. “It’s rumored to live in the cliffs beyond the forest outside of Apparatus.”

  She stopped beneath the rope leading to Bastian’s room. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

  His lips drew into a thin line. “Do you honestly expect me to respond to that?”

  “They have to find a dragon? What fuckarsery is this? Are you people all out of your minds?”

  Glancing to the empty hallways and then back to her, he gestured to the rope. “Will you just climb up before someone sees us?”

  She scowled. “How can you be talking about sneaking around at a time like this? I’m just going to walk up to my room, get my tool kit, and—”

  As she started walking back toward the hallway, Bastian caught her wrist again.

  “I must insist.” He practically dragged her back to where the rope dangled in the garden. “It’s too late. You can’t help Marzanna. But you can still help the others with the knowledge we learned last night.”

  She pulled against him, but he didn’t stop.

  “If I’m ever to help you again, our movements must remain a secret.”

  “I don’t have time for this.” She twisted, her body spinning.

  Elbowing Bastian in the chin, she tore her arm free of his grip.

  Stumbling backward, his eyes widened. �
�Did you just hit me?”

  “Have you not been listening to me this entire time? I have to get to Marzanna now. I don’t have time to attempt to scale a castle.”

  “You can’t help Marzanna. Not without interfering with the second competition, which I cannot allow.”

  She rolled her eyes, her look saying one thing, “Fuck what you allow.”

  Again, she moved toward the hallway, but something smacked hard against her ankles. Her feet went out from under her, and she crashed into nearby shrubbery. Flipping onto her back, she narrowed her eyes on the bastard who’d just fucking tripped her.

  She leaped to her feet, only for Bastian to kick at her ankles again. Only this time, she dived out of the way. His leg swiped at air as she landed another blow to his jaw.

  Running a thumb along his cheek, he said, “I didn’t see combat training in your files.”

  “First of all, that’s the creepiest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she said. “Second, any bastard carrying cargo between planets learns how to fight or they get killed by pirates. You should know as much, traveling with the circus.”

  Slowly, he moved, circling her. “I won’t let you interfere with this competition.”

  She barked a laugh. “As if you can stop me.”

  If she had any hopes of being a true cyborg tinkerer, she had to fix this mistake. More than that, she had to save Rora’s friend.

  Bastian positioned himself between her and the hallway, blocking her exit. But that wouldn’t matter for long.

  She lunged at him, landing several blows to his gut and sides. But as she struck, her fists collided with something far harder than human flesh. Stumbling backward, she shook out the zinging pain in her hands.

  Looking closely for the first time, she used her cyborg eye to scan Bastian’s frame. How had she never noticed it before? He was practically glowing with metal.

  “Are you made of fucking steel? Just what kind of implant did you get?”

  Bastian didn’t reply. Instead, he charged.

  She struck out at him, and he didn’t bother deflecting her blows. Again, her hands collided with his hidden implant. Her arms screamed with pain, but she ignored it. Spinning away, she reached for the knife in her boot. She didn’t want to hurt him, but there wasn’t time for this nonsense.

  Something slammed against her back, and she staggered forward.

  Bastian’s hand encircled her wrist—yet fucking again—and he spun her to him. There was a clicking sound as he cocked Gwen’s own pistol.

  How had he gotten that?

  He nodded toward the rope at the opposite end of the garden. “If you please, Ms. Grimm. Climb the rope now.”

  Smiling, she tightened her grip on the knife she had pressed against Bastian’s fucking testicles.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Glancing down, he sighed in exasperation, belatedly realizing his predicament.

  “You knew this competition was going to happen when you recruited me, and you told me nothing.” She pressed the knife harder against his crotch. Hard enough to make him gasp. “Why? Just so you could get me to sign that farce of a contract? Think I would have preferred dying to butchering other cyborgs? Well, I do, in case you’re wondering.”

  When he didn’t respond, she snapped, “Say something!”

  “I didn’t know.”

  Surprised, she lessened the pressure of the knife. “What do you mean you didn’t know?”

  “I’m not part of the show management team,” he said through gritted teeth. “They didn’t tell me what they were planning. A watchman slipped a letter beneath my bedroom door the morning of the ball with a notice that the first competition would be that evening and that all of the performers must be present. Knowing Celeste, I suspected the competitions wouldn’t be pleasant, but I had no idea what she’d planned or that she intended to employ the contract’s fine print and begin extractions. She’d never done it in the past. It wasn’t until after the first competition—after you and I harvested the implants—that I went to a show management meeting, uninvited, and demanded to be informed about the competition.”

  Bastian lowered the pistol. Slowly, Gwen lowered her knife as well.

  Glancing away, he ran a hand through his thick black hair. “I didn’t know, Gwendolyn. I had no fucking clue.”

  She wasn’t sure what was more surprising—the fact that he had used her first name or that he cursed.

  “And my recruitment?”

  His gaze was distant as he stared off into the gardens. “Pure chance. I’d heard from one of the manufacturers that a talented ship tinkerer was in town. It wasn’t until I located you in Anchorage’s prison that I learned of your illness and thought you might be a good fit for the circus.”

  She sniffed. “You mean desperate enough to join.”

  Eyes connecting with hers, he said, “We need a better tinkerer than Celeste. One who shows a modicum of remorse, at the very least. She’s the only one we had after our last tinkerer disappeared more than a year ago.”

  As though something snapped inside him, anger filled his gaze—a deep, bottomless fury.

  “You want the truth? Then here it is. The circus didn’t have any funds. Hasn’t for months. It’s why you haven’t been paid yet. I used every last mark I personally saved up over the past ten years to pay your bail and additional parts for your implant, but it wasn’t enough. So, I used the last of the circus’s recruitment funds as well. The Mistress didn’t approve, but… she came around when I insisted you would help to remove some of the responsibilities from her plate.”

  For the first time, Gwen looked at Bastian, truly looked at him. At the way his eyes were drawn, the deep, purple smudges beneath his eyes, and the terror lurking in the back of his gaze.

  “What did she do to you?”

  Shaking his head, he sighed. “I think the better question is, what hasn’t she done to me?”

  She thought of his restricting habits, how she’d never seen him eat. How he was always dressed immaculately, as though he was trying to hide a part of himself that he was ashamed of.

  Suddenly, it clicked, and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Did she… force herself on you?”

  His gaze fell from hers. “No. But she’s done just about everything else.” He swallowed thickly, a spark of anger alighting his features. “And the watchmen are loyal to only her.”

  A fury bright as starlight burst in her chest. Heat blossomed in her cheeks, and her arms shook. How could Celeste do this to him? How could anyone do that to another person—use someone as though they were worthless tools?

  Some strange instinct took over, and she sheathed her knife and wrapped her arms around him. At first, he was stiff with his arms at his sides. Moments later, his arms enveloped her, wrapping tightly around her back to pull her close to him.

  “I’m so sorry.” She murmured the words into his jacket, realizing for the first time that he was slightly taller. “I’m so damn sorry.”

  A thought occurred to her, and she ripped herself out of his arms.

  “What is it?” he asked, looking around.

  “I-I…” She was at a loss for words. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that… without your consent. Even if she didn’t… well… after whatever she did to you. I’m sorry.”

  She took several steps back from him, shaking her head. How could she be so stupid?

  Understanding flickered across his features. “I didn’t mind. It was… nice, actually. Thank you, Ms. Grimm. For your kindness.”

  Clearing his throat, he pointedly eyed the rope that swayed faintly in the wind.

  “I’m going to help them,” she said. “I must find Marzanna and fix my mistake. More than that, I can’t leave them to fight a dragon alone. Can you?”

  His eyes flicked to her human one, eyebrows furrowed.

  “I don’t know the geography of this planet, and I don’t have time to find a map.” Desperation tinged her voice, but she pressed o
n. “Not to mention, you’ve worked with Celeste. You know animals and how to handle them. I need your help. Please.”

  She tried not to think of Celeste’s threat after the first competition—and the very real possibility that the Mistress might try to take her eye if it was ever discovered she helped the performers during the competition.

  I have to protect the cyborgs. And I won’t let some bully like Celeste fuck with my new family.

  A deep heaviness settled on her chest.

  Sighing, he nodded. “Fine. But we do this my way. Climb the rope and don’t leave the room until I get back.” Turning back toward the hallway, he said over a shoulder, “I have to get something if we have any hope of bringing that dragon back.”

  Hours later, Bastian returned through the window with swords and shields and some strange item that bulged in his pocket. They packed bags before Gwen retrieved her skimming board and tool kit from her room.

  When night fell, she finally convinced Bastian that the skimmer was the fastest way to get out of the city and catch up with the performers.

  Kicking on the engine, she stepped onto the board, and he got on behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, which was heavy with the sword, she pushed off the window and flew into the night.

  They soared to the edge of the forest near the cliffs before descending and setting up camp.

  They ate dried food in silence and filled their water canteens in a nearby stream. She prayed the stream was clean enough that they wouldn’t be violently ill from drinking toxins.

  As they lay down, pulling jackets over them as blankets, she voiced a question that had been lingering at the back of her mind. “Why did you join Cirque du Borge?”

  Bastian lay on his back, staring up at the leafy canopies above them.

  She didn’t think he’d actually answer her—not after the sleepless night and heartwarming day they’d had—but he eventually spoke.

  “I was sentenced to death by hanging when the former ringleader found me,” he said. “It was more than ten years ago now, and I can only remember pieces.”