by Cam Baity
Phoebe pulled back the rumpled bedsheets to find the satchel she had kept by her side while she slept. She lifted the flap and saw a faint glow inside—the Occulyth, safe and sound. Her stomach rumbled even though the idea of food wasn’t appealing. Despite the sleep, she felt groggy but had no desire to crawl back into bed.
It would be dark soon. Time to get ready.
She got to her feet and winced at the resistance of the cords beneath her skin. They were hardening, making her limbs feel stiff and numb. As she padded across her enormous bedroom and approached the shiny chrome door of her closet, the machinery whirred to life, shutters unfolding to expose her Carousel. How delighted she had been when this device was first installed, and how quickly she had grown bored with its wonders. Now all she could think about was the innocent lives that had been taken to create such a marvel. The motors hummed softly as they rotated hundreds of outfits past her, most of which she didn’t recognize at all. She chose a simple gray blouse with gold zigzag designs.
Phoebe’s dingy Foundry coveralls and her mother’s battered old skirt were folded neatly on a chair with Micah’s trusty old work boots sitting to the side. The skirt had been washed and patched, the contents of its sniping pockets organized neatly on top. She couldn’t help but smile. Mrs. Tanner must have agonized over cleaning and fixing this ratty old thing instead of just chucking it out, as she had always wanted to.
Phoebe slipped out of her pajamas and into the blouse and skirt. She deposited the remaining sniping supplies on the vanity but returned two items to their rightful places in her skirt pockets—the cracked lenses of her father’s spectacles and the birthday present Micah had made her, a paper loon folded out of a Wackers wrapper.
She glanced at herself in the full-length oval mirror. Aside from her uneven haircut and the fresh bandages, she was the ghost of her father. Phoebe looked gaunt and hollow, which was hardly surprising after what had happened to her, with weeks of nothing but Wackers bars and military rations. Her eyes were lusterless and dim—much like the seed, Phoebe realized as she opened her shirt collar to inspect it.
The Uaxtu’s gift was cool to the touch, and its weak glow pulsed slowly, like the breath of a creature deep in slumber.
Her eyes fell upon an octagonal jewelry box on her vanity. Inside was her collection of Trinkas, the Foundry’s so-called “mechanical pets” that had first opened her eyes to the truth about Mehk. The sight and the memory made her sick.
Phoebe felt like a stranger in these clothes, in this house.
She didn’t belong here anymore.
Slinging the satchel that held the Occulyth over her shoulder, she took a long look at her opulent bedroom, trying to commit every detail to memory.
Phoebe unlocked the platinum doors and crept down the corridor like an intruder. She could hear the Tanners’ laughter coming from the dining room at the far end of the manor. Usually, if it was Micah or Randy, their cheer would soon be followed by Mrs. Tanner’s reprimanding shout, but not today. They were all together, all laughing. Phoebe tiptoed down the central staircase so they would not be disturbed.
The foyer was just as she remembered it, filled with the heartbeat tick of the grandfather clock shaped like an ornately filigreed skyscraper. And there were the copper-plated front doors, where her suitcase once sat, placed there by her father in his attempt to get her safely away from the Foundry—the same doorway where she had seen Kaspar for the first time.
A lifetime ago.
She wandered through the adjacent sitting room, which was in the process of being packed up into carefully labeled boxes, some sealed and others half-filled. Phoebe opened the curtained glass doors that led to the side yard. The glass had been replaced, but she could still see dents on the steel frames where her father had slammed them on the Watchman.
Phoebe stepped outside into a humid rush of summer air as a golden dusk began to tinge the sky, and the lengthening shadows winked with fireflies. Phoebe walked around the side of the manor to the courtyard atop a terraced hill, situated perfectly to take in the wonder of Albright City, capital of all Meridian.
But the wonder was gone.
The legendary gleaming skyline was now a wasteland, smothered by a haze of smoke from fires still burning—no more the pinnacle of technology and innovation, no longer the envy of the world. The land, sea, and air flickered like the fireflies with the lights of emergency vehicles. People were trying to put their lives back together now that the armies of both the Quorum and Mehk were gone.
And beyond the shattered, gap-toothed Crest of Dawn sprawled the crater of Foundry Central. At its heart was the yawning tunnel back to Mehk.
Beckoning to her.
Now that people knew the truth, would they actually do something about it? Could people really change? In the face of such trauma, could they actually make it last?
It was up to them now. She had done everything she could.
Phoebe heard a familiar buzz as a Newscam drone flew into view. Despite Micah’s attempts to chase them off, the media was persistent. As the hovering device focused its lens on her, she left the veranda and went back inside through the nearest door.
She found herself in the lavish dining room, which was also crammed with boxes that overflowed onto the giant burnished brass table. A silver platter piled with toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches sat among the packing supplies, and Phoebe helped herself to one. Drawn by the sound of a Televiewer, she wandered over to the kitchen to have a look.
“—a brief recess until peace talks resume,” reported a voice.
The Tanners were gathered around the nickel-framed screen, with Micah held tightly between Margie and his mother, as if the two women never wanted to let him go.
“Hey! I know them!” Micah said, pointing to the monitor.
Dollop and Orei were at the center of a group of mehkans at the damaged Council of Nations headquarters, standing with officials from Meridian and the Quorum.
“They look like your kinda people,” Randy snorted.
“Har-har,” replied Micah.
“While the world still reels from what is already being called the New Dawn, investigations continue into the Foundry’s practices.” Footage showed relief workers combing through the devastation of Albright City. “Search and rescue efforts continue in the capital. Anyone who is willing and able to volunteer, please contact the hotline you see listed on your screen.”
“We should do it,” Micah announced.
His family looked at him as if he were a mehkan.
“Come on,” he urged. “We can help.”
“My schedule’s pretty open these days,” Margie said. “I think I’m gonna quit.”
“You’re gonna WHAT?” Mrs. Tanner yelped.
The three siblings snickered.
“Sounds lame,” Randy said with a shrug, “but I’m down.”
Mrs. Tanner looked at her kids and couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose. Okay, what’s the number?” she said, turning to reach for the Dialset, only to see Phoebe standing there, sandwich in hand. “Oh! You gave me a fright.”
“You’re up!” Micah called out to Phoebe, looking her over. “What’s with the purse?”
She clutched the satchel. “Nothing. Just…accessorizing?”
“Right,” Micah snorted. “Almost forgot you were a girl.”
But Phoebe didn’t smile, so Micah got rid of his as well.
“Smooth,” his sister muttered, elbowing him gently.
“I never got the chance to thank you, Margie,” Phoebe said. “I don’t know how you did it, but you saved our lives.”
“No worries,” Margie replied and tousled Micah’s hair. “I’m pretty much used to it when it comes to this little ape.”
He rolled his eyes and shook her off.
“You all right, dear?” Mrs. Tanner asked. “Can I make you something else to eat?”
“No thanks,” Phoebe replied. “What are all the boxes for?”
Margie raised an eye
brow and looked at her mother.
“We, uh…we received a…a letter that—” Mrs. Tanner said.
“The Foundry told ’em the Doc fired us and that you and him moved away, so they had to kick us out,” Micah explained.
Phoebe nibbled her sandwich thoughtfully. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” she said.
“You mean…we can stay?” Mrs. Tanner asked.
“As long as you want,” Phoebe replied.
There were tears in the woman’s eyes.
“See!” Micah said, smacking Randy. “Told you she was cool now.”
“So if we’re stayin’,” Randy said, “that means you’re still gonna pay us, right?”
This time it was Mrs. Tanner who smacked him, hard enough to elicit a grunt.
“Thank you,” she said, wrapping Phoebe up in a giant hug, then whispering in her ear. “I don’t know what we would have done otherwise. I really don’t.”
Phoebe hugged Mrs. Tanner back.
“I’m so sorry for everything,” the woman continued to whisper. “So, so, so sorry. Your father was a great man, and he loved you more than anything in the world. He and your dear mother would have been so damn proud of you, you know that, right?”
Phoebe buried her face into Mrs. Tanner’s shoulder. Her lip trembled as she nodded and despite having no tears, she cried.
“I am so damn proud of you,” Mrs. Tanner choked.
She held Phoebe like that for a long moment, hugging her and smoothing stray hair back behind her ears like her father used to do. Though the housekeeper had never embraced her before, somehow this hug was the only thing that truly felt like home.
“Give her a break, will ya, Ma?” Micah suggested.
Mrs. Tanner released Phoebe from her grip, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and wiped the tears from her own eyes. Phoebe was trying to think of what to say when the satchel jerked sharply. Mrs. Tanner let out a yelp of surprise, as if she had seen a rat.
“Sorry,” Phoebe blurted and hurried from the kitchen.
She raced back into the main foyer and pushed through the dimpled copper door of her father’s study. Though it had been tidied up since the last time she had been there, and it still had the pleasing scent of brass polish and smoke, the cozy office was forever tainted with foul memories.
Phoebe tossed the satchel onto her father’s favorite Durall reading chair and drew out the Occulyth. It convulsed like a fish on the shore, its tendrils straining. The white star’s glow was bright and panicked. She held it for a moment, unsure of what to do. She had never seen it like this before. Hesitantly, she brought it up to her face.
The Occulyth cinched onto Phoebe’s head, hot energy streaming down her throat.
Her mind rushed. It was all clouds again.
Once more, Phoebe saw through Makina’s eyes. She was back in that strange world of liquid light. Others were gathered around. Hands were reaching inside Makina’s head, glowing and pinkish hands—those strange shepherd beings Phoebe had seen before. They dug and pulled, hands delving deep within Makina’s mind.
They grabbed onto something, and as they did so, Phoebe felt the Occulyth tighten on her face, resisting. The shepherds pulled harder, dragging out a throbbing squiggle of white light. The other part of the Occulyth.
The clouds vanished.
The heat in Phoebe’s mouth faded. The Occulyth’s tendrils trembled and let go. As she peeled the white star from her face, she saw that the light was gone and that its spongy flesh had stopped pulsing. Before her eyes, the Occulyth darkened and withered like fruit decomposing in fast-forward. It curled up, black and rigid.
It was done.
Makina was free.
Phoebe cradled the dead Occulyth the same way she had upon retrieving it from Emberhome. She placed the desiccated star in the fireplace and covered it with kindling. It was a poor burial, but it also somehow felt fitting that this should end here, in her father’s study. Her mother had convinced him to devote his life to the truth, and he, in turn, had died for it. His sacrifice had not been in vain.
She looked at the wall of photographs and took down the one she knew by heart. It showed her father, shaking the hand of the late President Saltern, but staring at her radiant mother, whose head was slung back with raucous laughter. They looked young and rebellious, full of love and life.
And damn proud.
Phoebe slipped the photo out of its frame and into her pocket.
“You okay?”
It was Micah, peeking in through the study door. She smiled and nodded.
“Ma and Margie are makin’ dinner,” he said. “They wanted me to invite you to join us, but I get it if—”
“That sounds good.”
“Oh,” he replied, a bit surprised. “Good.”
“Your mom must have really missed you,” she said.
“Pfff! Missed my wicked toilet-scrubbing skills maybe.”
Phoebe laughed. “They love you and you know it.”
“Yeah. Who woulda guessed, right?” Micah said, moseying farther into the study. “So…you sure you’re okay?”
“Depends on what you mean,” she said, her smile fading.
“I dunno. Just been thinkin’…about stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Like what the Ona said,” he explained. “About the seed.”
The mere mention of it made the cords beneath Phoebe’s skin tense. He approached, sensing her discomfort.
“I got a plan,” he said with his cockeyed grin. “When Fritz shocked it, it was good as new for a while, right? Well, what if we gave it a little recharge once a day? I got some parts in my shed, and I could totally throw something together.”
“Micah, I’m not sure it—”
“Like some sort of generator thingie, or a battery pack. Something that you won’t even have to think about,” he said, getting excited. “It’ll just keep you charged, and before you know it, you’ll totally forget about the seed. It’ll be great!”
“I don’t think it works like that.”
His face went red. “It does. We seen it. It has to work!” he snapped.
“I’m sorry, I just—” she started.
“No, I am. I’m the idiot,” Micah blurted as he walked up to her. “It’s just that…we did it, Phoebe. It’s over. We’re alive and we’re back home—you, me, and my family. We don’t have much, but things can be good, better than they ever were. Because we’re together. It’ll work. We can make it work.”
His expression was desperate, pleading.
“You’re right,” she said with a forced smile. “Let’s give it a shot.”
“Yeah! See, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he cheered.
Micah started rambling on about his plans for the generator, which he had apparently been thinking about for a while now, but Phoebe wasn’t listening.
She just couldn’t bear to break his heart.
It was super late, but Micah knew that sleep was a long shot. He had been tinkering in his work shed all night, kludging together a couple of batteries and terminals for the seed-zapper thingie, but his mind wasn’t really on it. His thoughts were in a jumble, trying to come up with a few sentences that didn’t sound as idiotically corny as one of those pink heart cards they sold in the flower shops.
He had to tell Phoebe how he felt. Tonight was the night.
Once upon a time, not so long ago, the idea of being stuck with Phoebe Plumm every day around the clock would have sounded like torture. But now, just spending one evening apart from her was agony. Starting right around their first night in Mehk, when they’d slept in a hollow log in the Chokarai, Phoebe started showing up in his dreams. She’d just kind of pop up when he least expected her, always smiling that sneaky smile and slipping away before he could say a word.
Micah was a twenty-ton hot mess, and he knew it. Pressure was building up inside him like a shaken bottle of Fizzy, and the only way to get rid of it was to tell her.
He tossed aside his tools and c
overed up his work in progress. Hurrying over to his utility sink, he rinsed the grime off his hands and splashed water on his face. A quick check in the mirror, a rake of fingers through his hair to find that perfect balance of dashing and I-couldn’t-care-less, and he was as ready as he would ever be.
Micah snuck across the grounds of Plumm Estate and crept inside. The house was dark and still as he climbed the stairs to the third floor. He ran through his prepared lines over and over again, trying to nail the cool, breezy attitude.
I need you to shut up until I’m done talking, okay?
Yep, solid opener. He reached the hallway leading to her room and took a few deep breaths as he approached it.
We’ve been through a bunch, so it’s time that I tell you how I really feel.
He stopped abruptly. There was something on her door.
A note. Addressed to him…well, sorta.
With shaking hands, he took it down and read it:
Dear Toiletboy,
I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye. I was afraid if I did, I wouldn’t be able to leave, and we both know I have to. My seed is dying. I’m getting weaker by the minute. The Ona was right, I have to go back, and if I don’t do it now, it’ll be too late.
Whatever you do, don’t be sad for me. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead. You saved me so many times, in more ways than you know. I’ll never be able to thank you enough. I’m lucky that you’re so stubborn, or you might not have tagged along with me into Mehk.
But here’s the important part:
I’m leaving Plumm Estate to you and your family as well as any money that my dad might have left for me. Do whatever you want with it. It’s yours. I hope it’s enough that all four of you never have to worry about money again.
Live a great life. Our world needs someone as tough and clever and impossible as you, especially now that everything is different. You’ve always been good at fixing things, Micah. Well, look around, there’s a lot that needs to be fixed.
I’ll never forget you.
Love,
Freaky
