by Cam Baity
Phoebe was exhausted by the time she slipped past the wreckage of the Crest of Dawn, which had crashed clean through the end of the bridge. She was wearing her oversized Durall coveralls again, with her sniping skirt on the outside and a bulky old school satchel on her back. Even Micah’s old work boots were making the trip back with her—they were snug but a whole lot sturdier than anything in her Carousel.
Plus, their boy stink reminded her of him.
Aside from a few scattered clean-up crews and their banks of floodlights, Foundry Central was abandoned. The scale of the destruction was so vast that they were likely still trying to assess the damage. The workers were too overwhelmed by the task at hand to notice Phoebe creeping through the rubble.
Caution tape fluttered in the ocean breeze. It surrounded the jagged black crater at the heart of the island like a chalk outline drawn around the Foundry’s corpse. Phoebe dug into her satchel full of provisions and withdrew a flashlight. She clicked it on, found a somewhat intact stairwell, and descended into the scorched depths. When the path became too congested with debris, she began to scoot and slide her way down the angled slabs of collapsed floors. The remains grew darker as she went down until everything was skeletal and black.
She arrived at what was left of the deserted underground rail yard, glowing phantom blue in the moonlight. Phoebe looked up at the night sky in the same way she had taken in every detail of her bedroom. There was no moon in Mehk, so this would be the last time she ever saw its soothing light. Same with these beautiful unconnected stars, hanging over this beautiful unconnected world.
Her home. Her country. Her people.
All left behind.
She felt as empty as the tunnel before her. Lying at the end of it was her only possible future—her one hope for survival. But in order to grasp it, she had to let go of everything. And everyone.
Phoebe slowly approached its blasted black mouth, just as she had a few weeks ago when she ran off after her father. She stared into it, the beam of her flashlight doing little to penetrate the void. A voice had come to her back then. That one word had been clearer than anything she had ever known.
Follow.
The voice had spoken to her again, prompting her to save the liodim in the Vo-Pykaron Mountains. Later, while using the whist, she had been convinced that it was the voice of Makina, allowing her to hear her dead parents from beyond the Shroud. But now Phoebe knew the Way was a lie, and that meant the voice was just a result of her overburdened mind, merely a product of her imagination. Wasn’t it?
So there she stood, once again facing the tunnel, desperate for the voice to guide her. Hoping. And waiting. But there was nothing. Only silence.
The mysterious power that had once spoken to her was gone.
Leaving her to face the absence alone.
She adjusted the satchel on her shoulders and took the first step—the one that she told herself would be the hardest. Then she took another, but it was no easier.
Nor was the third step. Or the one after that.
And yet on she kept on going.
“Don’t you dare!”
She stopped.
“Micah?”
He was panting and wheezing, as if he had run the whole way from Plumm Estate. He also hauled a backpack, though his was so absurdly overstuffed that it made him look like a particularly unlucky turtle.
“No,” she moaned. “Don’t do this.”
“I need you…to shut up until I’m…done talking, okay?” he huffed, doubled over. Once he finally caught his breath, he met Phoebe’s glare. “Sounded better in my head. Anyway, we’ve been through a lot over the last few weeks and—”
“You’re not coming,” she insisted.
“I, uh…” Micah stumbled over his words. “Ah, forget it! Why you gotta mess everything up? Why you gotta be so freakin’ stubborn, huh? You haven’t thought this through at all!”
“Of course I have,” she said, annoyed. “You belong here, with your family. You all have a chance here—a new start. I don’t have a choice, Micah, I have to go.”
“How much water you have on you? What happens when you run out? You’re gonna need help hunting down another VooToo. And what about food, eh? You got enough in there to last a couple hundred years?”
She avoided his eyes. “I’ll figure it out.”
“We will figure it out.”
“No!” she retorted. “This isn’t a game or some stupid adventure. I’m going to Rust Risen. Forever!”
“And I’m goin’ too,” Micah said, folding his arms over his chest. “I can help. I can come home to resupply. I can even try to figure out how those seed things work, and maybe find a way to get you outta there.”
“What about your mother?” she asked. “Running away again is going to kill her.”
“Nah, she’ll be fine,” Micah said with a shrug. “Especially once she realizes that she inherited the Plumm fortune. Thanks for that, by the way. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to visit. And who knows, maybe one of these days we’ll come back for good.”
Phoebe wanted to hit him. For making her think for a second that it was even remotely possible. For giving her hope.
“I ain’t…” he said, his voice softening. “I ain’t gonna let you get away that easy.”
But Phoebe wasn’t feeling soft.
“You’re a pain in my butt,” she said.
“Ditto,” he shot back, smirking.
They stared at each other for a moment, neither budging.
Then Phoebe felt a smile melt her lips, as much as she resisted.
A bright spotlight illuminated them.
“Ph-Phoebe! Micah!”
The kids shielded their eyes against the harsh glare and saw the familiar shapes of Dollop, Fritz, and the Associates racing toward them. Trailing behind their friends was a pack of squat creatures that sprang through the air like oversized fleas, each leap accompanied by a burst of firecracker light. They were so out of place here in Meridian that it took a moment to recognize them.
“No way! Sparkies?” Micah laughed.
“Regrettably, yes,” replied an irritated Mr. Pynch, shaking one of the bouncy mehkan beasts off his leg. “Whole litters of ’em tagged along with the mehkie influx. Accursed mudging varmints know good scavengering when they observate it.”
“Why are you here?” Phoebe asked. “I thought you had already gone back home.”
The Marquis dimmed his opticle, and they saw that the lumie looked more debonair than ever. He was sporting a spiffy new copper-threaded tuxedo, complete with matching top hat and cane. Mr. Pynch boasted a ruffled collar of dozens of neckties, each a different garish hue. Even Fritz had accessorized. The Watchman, weighted down by an enormous canvas sack, had traded his helmet and faceplate for the bowler hat and mustached face of the regular model.
Fritz dropped the huge sack with a clunk. It was overflowing with picture frames, house plants, glass bottles, ceramic mugs, and mess of other human detritus.
“Lemme guess,” Micah said. “Delayed by a shopping spree?”
Mr. Pynch flashed his grimy gear-toothed grin. “We tarried for a smidge to peruse some of the profitous aftermath. Did you know there be establishments in yer fair metropolis that leave their merchandisables out front, right in the open, behind a flimsy sheet of transparent breakability? The hospitality be truly behumbling!”
“Th-they stole it,” Dollop explained.
A sparky nuzzled up against Micah’s leg, its mouth of grinders emitting a friendly sputter of sparks. He scratched the mehkan critter behind its swiveling paddle ears.
“Nothing of the sort!” Mr. Pynch gasped, as if offended. “We were merely acquiring resources for our new business venture, when we helped ourselves to some minimally guarded fineries along the way. It be for a just cause, I most assuredly assure you.”
“And what might that be?” Phoebe wondered aloud.
“Why the induction of Fritz into the Associates, of course!”
The Wa
tchman nodded eagerly and tipped his new bowler hat, shuddering with an electric spasm. This got the attention of a pair of sparkies, who hopped over to nip innocently at his heels and make playful squeaking noises.
“Not only has ol’ Fritzy here proven himself invaluable in a pinch, what with his befuddling innerworkings and doohickey know-howery,” Mr. Pynch explained, “but it also turns out that he has remarkable instincts in assessing valuables. He’ll make us a pretty tinklet of gauge back in Mehk!”
Blinky-flicker-pop, the Marquis added.
“Yes, me good lumie. All profits and risk to be shared equally.” He pointed to the heavy canvas sack and waggled his bushy brows at their new partner. “And labor.”
Fritz saluted and chased away a sparky from their stash.
“What about you, Dollop?” Phoebe asked. “I thought you were busy helping Orei with the negotiations.”
Their little friend looked at the ground. “I wa-was. But they d-d-didn’t really need me, I guess. So I—I thought I’d go back, when I bumped into these guys again.” He brightened. “Wh-what about you? I can’t believe you’re—you’re really here!”
“Quite! To what do we owe the continued pleasure of your company, Miss Phoebe and Master Micah?” inquired Mr. Pynch.
The kids looked at each other uncomfortably.
“I…have to go back,” she said.
Dollop approached her carefully.
“Is it b-because of the Ua-Uaxtu?” he asked.
Phoebe opened her mouth to speak but could find no words.
“We need to get her back to the Shroud,” Micah explained. “Back to Rust Risen. Or she’s…gonna die.”
Mr. Pynch’s face sagged. The Marquis’s opticle tinged blue. Dollop took Phoebe’s hand. His metal skin was soft and warm, and his amber eyes filled with empathy. She tried to smile at him, but it was impossible. Then Mr. Pynch took her other hand in his stubby mitt and gave it a gentle squeeze. The Marquis lay a hose-like arm across her shoulders and inclined his glowing head toward her.
Even Fritz joined. He tossed some junk for the sparkies to fetch so he could help console Phoebe as well. He was about to attempt a fist bump when he elected for a gentle pat on her back instead. They stood there with her in silence.
“Well,” Mr. Pynch said, wiping at his wonky eyes, “what we be diddle-dawdling for?”
Blink-blunk-flickery-strobe!
“But I—” Phoebe began.
“Meaning you wanna come with?” Micah asked.
“Want has nary to do with it!” the balvoor declared, his nozzle whizzing. “Top priority for the Associates always be the protection of investments, er…friends. Besides, we have manifold business opportunities to attend to in that particulous region, so it be along our trajectory. Let us discuss the most expedient ingress….”
Mr. Pynch and the Marquis led Micah away to talk details. There was a time when such a gesture would worry her, but those days were long gone. They were her friends.
She and Dollop stood together as Fritz tried to out-spark the sparkies.
“Here we are, interl-l-locking again,” Dollop said in wonder. “Our tr-true function.”
“Function?” Phoebe looked at him in surprise. “But, Dollop, you saw what happened. You know the Way isn’t real.”
“Oh, I—I know,” he said, raising his eyes to meet hers. “But I still have fa-faith that we were given purpose.”
“By who?”
“Well s-s-someone had to have made us. Maybe not Ma-Makina, but there is a Great Engin-n-neer. I feel it.”
“What do you mean, you feel it?”
“It’s ha-hard to explain.” The mehkan considered his words. “It’s not a—a vision or a pr-presence, or anything li-like that. It just…it co-comes from…inside.”
Phoebe and Dollop stared at each other. And smiled.
“That settles it, then,” Mr. Pynch announced. “Let us avaunt! Dollop, look sharp. Fritzy, to the loot—and quit your buffoonery with them sparkies!” They looked over to find the Watchman rolling on the ground and roughhousing with the mehkan mutts. “Miss Phoebe…after you.”
She could feel her friends all watching her, waiting for her to say something. But she was lost in thought, her eyes distant. Staring into the darkness of the tunnel.
Listening once more. For the voice.
“Phoebe?” Micah asked.
After a long moment she breathed again. And gave them her answer.
“Ready.”
So they set off, with the Marquis’s merry opticle guiding their way and a troop of rambunctious sparkies following behind.
The Ona had been wrong. Phoebe had saved her kind and everyone she loved was not dead—they were right here, by her side. Whatever lay ahead, Phoebe did not have to face it alone. A feeling of warmth flowed from the seed and spread through her body.
The fear was gone—at least for now.
Because this time, when she had listened to the blackness that stretched in front her in search of that old, elusive guidance, she had heard something. It was different than before, more like what Dollop had described—from inside. Harder to find.
Yet it had been with her all along. It was something that she would have to work to hear, and to trust, for the rest of her life, until either the grand mystery decided to reveal itself or the time came to finally face the absence.
This was her own voice. Saying one word.
Live.
accord one of several sacred texts that form the scriptures of the Way.
Aegis, aka “Emberguard” the group of deadly and mysterious mehkans that serve as the Ona’s personal guard. It is said that they are silent and able to vanish into thin air.
Ahm’ral one of the oldest mehkan cities, considered sacred by the Waybound.
aio a secretive mehkan species with a sinister reputation as hired assassins. The aios are distinguished by the black, membranous folds of their bodies, which obscure their features.
Albright City capital of the nation of Meridian, Albright City is the wealthiest and most resplendent metropolis in the world.
Albright, Creighton (1597–1646) creator of the Foundry, and widely considered the father of the modern age. Centuries ago, he was the owner of a struggling mining company, when he stumbled upon the portal that leads to Mehk. He kept this discovery a secret and transformed his company into the Foundry, using it to reap tremendous profit and usher in a new era of technology.
Alloy War a global conflict that lasted from 1630 to 1646. Many nations united against Meridian, afraid that the Foundry’s technological advantage was becoming insurmountable. More than thirty million people died during the long and bloody war.
Amalgam, aka “the amalgami” an isolated, idyllic community of cave-dwelling mehkans.
arch-axial exclusive title for a mehkan high priestess of the Way.
The Arcs a vast mehkan geological formation of stair-step ravines and natural land bridges, carved by the elements over the millennia.
augurweed a mehkan grain that is fermented to produce viscollia.
axial a mehkan priestess of the Way.
balvoor (e.g., “Mr. Pynch”) a boisterous mehkan species with a highly developed sense of smell. Balvoors are known for their expressive emotions and colorful way of life. Their talent for languages makes them uniquely suited as diplomats and politicians.
Bearing holy mehkan vestments worn by the ancient Waybound.
Bhorquvaat a mehkan port city whose name roughly translates to “The Grand Mark,” the ancient landmark around which the city was built.
bleeder the mehkan term for a human.
blight one of a number of quarantined zones in Mehk that has been rendered useless due to the lingering effects of CHAR.
Bloodtalon, aka “F-20 Bloodtalon” a state-of-the-art Foundry missile that scrambles radar detection and delivers tremendous destructive power via proprietary Pinwheel thrusters.
Bloodword mehkan term for human language.
The Board the u
ltimate authority within the Foundry, elite and anonymous overseers known only by their voices.
bonding round white chemical bullets designed by the Foundry to incapacitate and kill mehkans, striking their target in a semi-liquid state and hardening upon impact.
Boostdolly motorized handcart used for the easy transport, loading, and unloading of goods.
Callendon a wealthy southern state in Meridian, known for its luxury beach resorts.
CHAR, aka “Colloidal Hypo-Amaroid Retroacid” a Foundry-made chemical weapon that dissolves metal, invented specifically to assault Mehk. The Foundry has banned the use of CHAR due to its permanent and cumulative corrosive effects.
Children of Ore a term used by the Way to refer to all mehkans, who they believe were created by Makina.
Chokarai a dense mehkan forest of pipework trees that is home to the chraida.
chraida (e.g., “The Ascetic”) arboreal mehkan species with a fierce tribal culture. They are hostile toward humans due to the Foundry’s incursions on their land.
chusk knobby mehkan vegetation eaten by grundrulls and used by langyls to create metallic textiles.
Citadel an ancient mehkan palace, once home to the dreaded emperor Kallorax, now occupied by the Foundry. It is widely reviled for its facade, which is covered in melted mehkan corpses.
click a mehkan unit of time, roughly equivalent to an hour.
Coiling Furrows a natural mehkan maze formed by tectonic pressure that forced rippled sheets of ore to the surface.
Com-Pak a small, versatile communications device made by the Foundry.
Condor High-capacity Foundry fighter jet.
Control Core a massive tower in the Depot that serves as the new center of operations for the Foundry in Mehk.
Council of Nations an international cooperative organization to promote diplomacy, founded in response to the Alloy War.
Covenant secret rebel army of the Way, an underground network of mehkan freedom fighters sworn to defend their world from the Foundry.
Crest of Dawn the towering, sculpted arch in the shape of a sunburst that looms over the bridge leading to Foundry Central. A depiction of this landmark serves as the company’s logo.
cycle a mehkan unit of time, roughly equivalent to a day.
