Clockwork Heart

by Dru Pagliassotti

  “Your straps are loose,” he said critically, then lifted his gaze. The lenses of his glasses flashed white in the lamplight. “And two of your feathers are damaged.”

  Taya swallowed.

  “Yes, Exalted. I was in an accident. I’ll get them repaired as soon as I return to the eyrie.” She looked down at her harness and wished she’d taken the time to re-coil all her lines and re-fasten all her buckles. She’d been in too much of a hurry to finish up for the day. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be unpleasant, Cristof. The young lady appears to have been working hard today.”

  Taya glanced up. Decatur Forlore was smiling at her. He was young, for a member of the Council— he couldn’t be much into his thirties, and most Council members were in their sixties. She remembered seeing his name on her list of important people. Forlore. He was a programmer, but he hadn’t voted often enough to be politically categorizable yet.

  “It’s a matter of safety.” Cristof’s voice was stern. “An armature is a sensitive piece of machinery. It shouldn’t be mistreated like this.”

  “I didn’t mistreat it!” Taya protested. The exalted’s eyebrows rose, and she bit her bottom lip.

  “Then what happened to you?” Forlore asked, before Cristof could respond to her outburst. Taya bowed, eager to explain before she was criticized again.

  “One of the wireferry girders broke, Exalted, and I—”

  “Viera!” The decatur pushed away from the table. “You were the icarus who rescued Viera? We were told about it when Caster was called away. Is she well? How is Ariq?”

  “They’re both safe, Exalted. Neither was injured.”

  “Thank the Lady!”

  “What caused the accident?” Cristof asked, his grey eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who cares? What’s important is that no one was hurt,” Forlore said impatiently. “That is — no one was hurt? None of the rescuers were injured, were they?”

  “No, Exalted.”

  “That’s good. By the Forge, Cris,” the exalted said with a touch of irritation, “you need to get your priorities straight.”

  “The icarus had already told us Viera was safe. I asked the next logical question.” Cristof gave the decatur a sidelong look, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. “You should wonder why it happened, too, Alister. It could have been you in that car.”

  “Oh, would you stop worrying? I’ve told you before — statistically speaking, you’re less likely to get into an accident on a wireferry than you are walking through the city streets,” Forlore said. “It was probably metal wear. I should adjust the weather variables on the Engine’s repair program; the last few winters have been more severe than most.”

  “We would all be safer if you did,” Cristof said, stiffly. “Good evening, Alister. Icarus.”

  Taya stepped aside as he brushed past her, wondering again whether she should bow. At last she did, but he was already through the doorway and didn’t notice.

  She turned back to Decatur Forlore, who shrugged.

  “Cristof is brilliant with machines but terrible with people. Come in, Icarus. Tell me everything that happened.”

  She took a cautious step deeper into the room, afraid her wings would knock something over.

  “You had better take those off. There’s no point trying to walk through this mess with twelve feet of metal strapped to your back. Here, let me find you a chair. Were you part of the rescue team? You must be exhausted.”

  “I can’t stay long, Exalted—”

  “I insist you stay for a few minutes. I intend to hear the entire story before you leave.” The decatur turned, working his way to a desk. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

  “No, thank you. I have to fly back,” she said with regret. Wine was a luxury she could seldom afford, and it was unheard-of for a decatur to offer a glass to a mere icarus. But flying required precision work, especially with damaged feathers. She glanced at the clock on his table, thinking of Katerin’s wedding. At this rate, she was going to have to choose between a bath and dinner, if she wanted to get to the ceremony on time.

  Well, there’d be food at the reception.

  “I hardly imagine half a glass will impair your judgment.” Forlore pulled out an open bottle and rummaged until he found two glasses. “Consider it a command, if you wish.”

  “Well, Exalted, if you put it that way….” She set the package aside and unbuckled her harness. When she looked up, she saw him smiling at her. She instinctively smiled back, then blushed. Exalted, she reminded herself, pulling off her flight cap. Mind your caste!

  “What’s your name, Icarus?”

  “Taya, Exalted.” She left the armature bobbing behind her and gave him a proper bow, trying to restore a safe formality between them. He was still gazing at her, looking bemused. Her short hair was probably standing on end. It always did after a long day of flying.

  “I don’t believe I have ever seen you here before. I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

  “I’m here every couple of days, Exalted, flying one errand or another.”

  “Is that so?” He poured a half-glass and handed it to her, then filled a glass for himself. He tilted the glass in a brief toast. “I should get out of my office more often.”

  Was he flirting? Did she want him to be flirting? Flustered, Taya looked around the crowded room, seeking a noncommittal response.

  “I can see how getting out of here might pose a problem.”

  He laughed.

  “I know this appears chaotic, but I assure you that I have a very scientific filing system.”

  “And the floor is part of it?”

  “The system is deeply encrypted.”

  Taya smothered her smile. Lady, what was she doing? She had to get back to the eyrie.

  “I brought you something to add to it, then.” She handed him the package from the College of Mathematics, then sipped her wine as he opened it.

  Definitely a new Council member, she thought, watching him as he read. No decatur had ever poured her a drink before, or even engaged her in small talk. The exalteds, forged by the Lady with the superior insight and intellect they needed to protect Ondinium, seldom wasted much time on the lower castes.

  Superior insight and intellect. Her lips quirked as she let her gaze roam across the clutter that surrounded them. You’d think the product of a thousand fortunate rebirths would be a little more organized.

  “Well, I can’t say I’m delighted by these statistics, but I appreciate your delivering them.” Forlore set the papers down and looked up. “You’re still standing. Sit. You can remove that bust from the chair behind you. Set it on the floor.”

  “Are you sure I won’t disrupt your filing system?” she asked, moving the head away and taking a seat.

  “Not at all. It belongs there with the other P’s.” Forlore leaned against the table, watching her.

  “I see.” She returned his look, keeping her face impassive. “Would that be ‘P’ for Abatha Cardium or ‘P’ for astronomer?”

  “‘P’ for plaster.”

  She laughed and he beamed, his green eyes warm with pleasure.

  “May I ask you a question, Exalted?”

  “You may.”

  “How long have you been a decatur?”

  “I have been a decatur a little over a year now. I was elected to the Council after Decatur Neuillan was … released from duty.”

  Of course. She should have guessed the newest member would be Neuillan’s replacement. The older decatur had been caught selling engine programs to the Alzanan government.

  Most of the citizenry had demanded his execution, but Ondinium law reserved the death sentence for murder. Instead, the decatur had been stripped of his cas
te, sentenced to exile, blinded, and flogged out the city gates as a traitor.

  “Is there a reason you ask?” Forlore gave her a curious look. “Do I seem different from the other decaturs, somehow?”

  He did, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “I was just wondering why I’ve never delivered a message to you before.”

  “Oh. I’m afraid that’s because I spend a great deal of time down at the University with my programming team.” He grimaced. “I’ve come to the conclusion that the Council keeps its new members in line by assigning them so much work that they’re unable to find the time for any other potentially disruptive pursuits, such as framing legislation. But my team has just finished a major project, so I’m free to attend meetings once more.”

  “Is attending meetings better than programming?”

  “It is different, at least. But I fear my job must seem quite dull, compared to yours. Now, tell me about the accident. What happened?”

  Taya recounted the story a second time, gratified by his rapt attention. When she was through, Forlore gave a long, low, and very un-exalted-like whistle.

  “Astounding. I’m relieved you were there. My cousin Viera is as close as a sister to me. I’d be devastated were I to lose her.”

  “She was very brave,” Taya ventured.

  “Viera has always been brave. She is also honorable; she won’t forget she owes you her life, and neither will her husband. Caster Octavus is a very traditional man in matters of caste and honor.”

  “What are his politics?” she asked, eager to learn more about the man. Forlore blinked, looking surprised by the question.

  “Well … that’s rather difficult to say. Caster’s enemies call him an Organicist, but it’s a misnomer. He depends on the Great Engine as much as the rest of us, at least in matters of industry and agriculture. But he doesn’t care for programs that simulate human behavior, so he’s objected to a few of the trade and policy calculators that the Council has adopted.”

  Taya studied the decatur’s face, trying to see if he were joking.

  “You have programs that act like humans?”

  “Not precisely.” Forlore chuckled. “I imagine you saw that play down in Secundus last year, didn’t you? The one about the analytical engine that goes insane and orders the city’s lictors to kill anyone who challenges its calculations?”

  Embarrassed, she nodded.

  “You needn’t turn so red! I was among the handful of exalteds who went to see it. I found it very imaginative, but the playwright didn’t have any notion of how analytical engines really work. What we call a human-behavior simulation program doesn’t give an engine the capacity for independent thought. What happens is that programmers like my team collect data about how one person behaves, or about how many people behave, under certain circumstances. They develop a behavioral model, code it onto cards, create and run a program, and the Great Engine uses the program’s parameters to calculate the most likely behavior a hypothetical person sharing the same traits might adopt in a given situation.”

  Taya gave him a dubious look. He smiled.

  “You’ve taken loyalty tests, of course.”

  She nodded. Icarii took a loyalty test each year, on the anniversary of their Great Examination.

  “Your answers to each test are fed into the Engine, and it compares your new responses to your old responses, notes any changes, compares them to established risk factors, and predicts whether or not you’re a threat to city or Council. If there’s a reasonably high probability that you’re becoming a security risk, you’ll be summoned before a Board of Inquiry that determines the truth of the matter.”

  “Isn’t the Engine always right?”

  “Many people assume so, but it isn’t the case. If the Engine has a well-tested, reliable program and enough data, its predictions certainly have a high level of validity. But it’s impossible to collect enough data to cover all the potential variables. That’s why humans make the final analyses.” He smiled. “If the Great Engine were infallible, Ondinium wouldn’t need a Council.”

  Taya thought of Pyke. “I know someone who always criticizes the Council, but he’s never been called up to a Board of Inquiry.”

  “Criticizing the Council doesn’t make someone a security risk.” Forlore paused, taking a sip of his wine. “Council members criticize each other all the time. A group that never questions itself usually makes bad decisions. Your friend may not be happy with Ondinium’s government, but apparently he hasn’t shown any inclination to sabotage it.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Taya hastened to assure the decatur. She didn’t want to get Pyke into any trouble. Forlore looked amused, as if reading her mind. “Do decaturs take loyalty tests, too?”

  “Yes, but….” the exalted paused, glancing at her. “As I said, the Engine isn’t infallible. If it were, it would have caught Decatur Neuillan.”

  His hesitation was enough to remind Taya that she wasn’t chatting with a friend; she was talking to an exalted. Why was she dawdling here, anyway, when her sister was getting married tonight? She stood.

  “I’m sorry, Exalted. I’ve taken up too much of your time.”

  “Not at all.” He reached out for her glass. She faltered, then handed it to him. Exalteds weren’t supposed to take dirty dishes. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you, Taya Icarus.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for the wine.”

  “My pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again.”

  “I’m sure you will, Exalted.” She began strapping on her armature again.

  “Yes. I’m sure I will, too.”

  She glanced up. He was watching her with a thoughtful look, the lamplight glittering off the gold clasps in his dark hair and burnishing the smooth copper of his skin. But even without the ornaments, it would be obvious that he had been born to the exalted caste— his Ondinium coloration and features were flawless.

  Taya smoothed her short auburn hair, the all-too-apparent sign of her mixed heritage. To her chagrin, she took after her Mareaux father more than she did her Ondinium mother. Then she blushed and looked down to check her harness once more.

  Lady, there’s a reason exalteds wear concealing masks and robes! She had no right to notice Decatur Forlore’s face. The only features that mattered between them were her wings and his castemarks.

  Think of this as a diplomatic test, she advised herself. Act like you’re already in the corps.

  “Is that everything, Exalted?” She took a deep breath and looked up, smoothing her expression into one of calm professional interest.

  “For the moment.” He held her gaze. “Fly safely, Icarus.”

  “I will. Thank you.” She bowed once more, her palm against her forehead, and made her way out as quickly as she could. She felt his eyes on her and had to struggle to resist the urge to glance back.

  As soon as she reached the hall, she rubbed her hands against her cheeks, trying to convince herself they weren’t burning and he hadn’t seen her blush.

  Lady and spirits. I’m going to have to rush to get to the wedding on time.

  Chapter Three

  Taya’s father ran an iron-smelting factory in Tertius, and her sister was marrying one of his chief engineers. Most of the factory workers had come for the festivities, along with the family’s friends and neighbors.

  Taya held a cup of weak punch and watched Katerin dance, a flash of white moving through the dark famulate suits and dresses of the other guests.

  “That’ll be you down there, soon enough,” her father said, at her elbow.

  “I’m not in a hurry, Papa,” she said.

  “Too busy working, are you? Heard from the exam board yet?”

  “No. It’s still too soon. Even if I do well on the exam, they’ll run background checks and talk to my employers
and friends.”

  “You’ve not a thing to worry about, you don’t.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’ve faith you’ll pass your test, and nobody will speak poorly of you, not under the wires nor up in the air. Now, doff your wings and join the dancing. You’ve done your duty today, haven’t you, and then some.”

  “I wasn’t planning on staying much longer.” Taya glanced up at the wings that curved over her head. The two primaries were still bent. She’d returned to the eyrie too late to ask a smith to repair them, and she’d needed her armature for the wedding. Icarii were considered good luck, especially at weddings, so she’d promised her sister she’d wear her wings to the ceremony.

  “Tired?”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “I suppose it has at that, and the longer for spending your evening with us instead of your own caste.”

  Taya shot him a guilty glance, but her father was smiling, one hand on her arm while his eyes followed his youngest daughter with contented pride.

  Filled with affection, Taya leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. His red hair, which she’d inherited, was streaked with grey now, and the dirt from his job had ingrained itself into his skin like another tattoo, revealing his caste as clearly as the black circle on his forehead. Taya knew some icarii who were embarrassed to come from the famulate caste, but she was proud of her father.

  “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” she said. “Tomas seems like a good man.”

  “He is that.” Her father smiled. “We’re glad you came down. Katie’s told everyone who’ll listen that her sister the icarus was coming to her wedding, hasn’t she?”

  “She’s not jealous of me leaving the caste, is she?”

  “Of you, sweetness?” Her father’s eyebrows rose. “Lady, no. She thinks you’ve a dismal life, full of long days and risky work and not a decent man in all those crowded eyries of yours.”

  “There are too decent icarii!” Taya protested, shooting her oblivious sister an annoyed look.

  Her father chuckled and moved away to talk to his guests.