by Rosiee Thor
A carriage had stopped just inside the Settlement, maroon and gray. He had left the Settlement to bring his father the one thing he wanted most, but his father would see only a disobedient son who’d disappointed him yet again.
As the Commissioner descended from his carriage, the officers surrounding the gate bowed as one. The Commissioner turned toward the Settlement gate, his gaze finding Nathaniel.
Pocketing the locket and the riddle inside, Nathaniel took a deep breath—noting how the air filled his lungs so effortlessly now—and made for the entrance. There was no point putting off their confrontation.
“Get in,” the Commissioner said in lieu of a greeting, snatching the garish hat from Nathaniel’s head and handing it to one of the officers with a grimace.
Nathaniel didn’t need telling twice. He mounted the steps up to the carriage, watching his muddy shoes, rather than the faces around him. He knew what fate awaited him the moment the carriage door closed, and he didn’t want to see whether the officers knew it, too.
To Nathaniel’s surprise, the Commissioner remained silent for the duration of their ride back to the manor. Truth be told, Nathaniel would have preferred the alternative. He could bear his father’s anger, even at its worst, far better than the agony of waiting. The longer the Commissioner said nothing, the more Nathaniel’s imagination explored the many ways in which he’d disappointed him—all equally legitimate, equally heinous. How could he have thought this would make his father happy?
But even though he’d broken all his father’s rules to do it, Nathaniel had still achieved so much. Maybe he hadn’t caught the Technician yet, but he’d come so close—closer than his father’s officers had, at any rate. Surely his father would see that he was only trying to help—that he did not mean his actions in the spirit of rebellion.
When the Commissioner finally spoke, it was in a voice so quiet Nathaniel could barely hear him.
“I have no adequate words to describe the disloyalty—the dishonor—of your actions today.” He hissed the words through his teeth. “I thought we understood one another, but once again I hear from my officers you’ve disobeyed me, leaving the Settlement on your own. I have either underestimated your disregard for rules or overestimated your ability to comprehend them.”
Nathaniel kept his lips tightly pressed together. No good would come from interrupting his father.
“Which is it, Nathaniel? Are you a delinquent or an imbecile?”
Nathaniel stayed silent, determined to say nothing that would upset his father more. As he tightened his grip on his leg, metal returned his touch. The locket, so small that it barely made an impression on his hand, gave him hope. Even more, it gave him courage.
“Neither,” Nathaniel whispered.
The Commissioner snarled. “Then tell me, what business that is neither idiotic nor disobedient were you engaged in today?”
Nathaniel looked up, finally catching his father’s eye. He wished he hadn’t. The cold brown stare that met his made Nathaniel’s insides shrivel. He squeezed the locket in his pocket as though it held the key to his bravery.
“I just— I wanted to do something for you, Father.” Nathaniel found it easier to keep his head up if he let his vision slip out of focus. “I know being Commissioner takes its toll. I thought if I could help carry that burden you might see—I might show you—that I can take on more responsibilities.”
“More responsibilities?” The Commissioner’s voice turned sharp, but at least he wasn’t whispering anymore. “You think you deserve my trust after all this? That’s twice in the past month you’ve disobeyed my rules.”
Thrice, if he counted sneaking into the officers’ bunker, but Nathaniel wasn’t about to admit a third offense. “I’m sorry, Father. I just thought if I—”
“If you what? What could you possibly have been doing outside the Settlement’s walls that would impress me?”
The carriage stopped, making the silence that followed even more permeable. Nathaniel’s breathing and his heartbeat—ticks—were too loud, too strong.
“I was tracking the Technician,” Nathaniel said in a small voice.
Silence built between them like an invisible wall, and Nathaniel braced for impact.
But then the Commissioner laughed—he laughed!
“The Technician, you say?” His shoulders shook. “My son, you must stop wasting your time on such things. You’re embarrassing yourself.” He shot Nathaniel a piercing look, all humor gone from his eyes. “And you embarrass me. You must give up this silly notion of catching the Technician. You’ll get yourself killed trying.”
Nathaniel didn’t think it silly, though it was certainly not the time to admit it. The Technician brought only terror to the Settlement—circumnavigating every hole in the Commissioner’s laws until they barely applied to him at all. The man was both ghost and goblin, wreaking havoc and ruin through his deeds, but even more so through his ideas, his whispers. If Anna spoke the truth, there were more like her—like Nathaniel. The Tarnished and their movement had not died with his father’s rise to power, but remained a very real presence in the Settlement.
The Commissioner sighed, surveying Nathaniel. “If you promise me no more of this recklessness, and truly show me that you mean it, perhaps we can revisit the idea of responsibility.” He pushed open the carriage door. “Not one of the men in my army could find the Technician. Whatever made you think you could succeed where they did not?” He shook his head as he began to walk away. “The man who brings me the Technician will be the very best among us, you mark my words. Leave it to the experts, Nathaniel.”
The Commissioner left Nathaniel in the carriage with only his shame for company. But his father was right. Nathaniel wasn’t a soldier; he was the Commissioner’s son. Disloyal and dishonorable he might be, but he was also determined. He would become an expert, and he would show the Commissioner that he—Nathaniel, the frail boy who’d failed him over and over again—was truly the very best among them.
Anna’s mind wound in circles. She didn’t usually let anything distract her. She was focused—like she was red-haired or tall. But something about Nathaniel had left her thoughts scattered. When she returned to Mechan, she bypassed the front door and looped around the back, eager to avoid Thatcher at all costs. They’d not spoken since their fight, and Anna had no intention of breaking the record. She’d check on Roman, then slip quietly back to her workshop.
“Roman,” she whispered as she cracked open the door.
The little boy’s eyes flew open, a smile winging its way onto his face. “Anna!”
Anna’s chest swelled to hear his voice had returned to a normal tone, no longer scratchy the way it had been that first day. “How’s my brave boy feeling?”
“Pirate! I’m a brave pirate!” Roman hit the blanket atop him with his hand.
“Of course you are. The bravest!” Anna leaned in to ruffle his hair. She tried not to do it too often, but it was just so fluffy, and standing, he was the perfect height for her to rest her hand. “Is the great Pirate Roman up for a little adventure?”
Roman quirked his lips, seeming to consider for a moment. “Will there be plundering?”
“We can’t be sure of any plunder, but I can promise a surprise.” She held out her hand. “What do you say?”
Roman placed his hand in hers and let her help him to his feet. The trek across Thatcher’s lawn to the workshop didn’t take as long as she’d expected. Children certainly recovered quickly, she would give them that. Still, Roman leaned against her as they walked, though Anna couldn’t tell if he needed her support or if he just liked being close to her.
When Anna approached the door of her faded blue workshop, Roman squealed with glee. “Are we going inside? Will you let me hammer something?”
Anna didn’t like to think of what Roman might accomplish with a hammer, so she maneuvered around the question. “I had something a tad more exciting in mind.” She pushed open the door, letting Roman half stumble, half skip past her. “Ho
w would you like to see your birthday present early?”
Roman’s sky-blue eyes popped in his head. “Show me! Show me!”
Anna raised an eyebrow at him, doing her best impression of Ruby’s cross expression.
“Please, Auntie Anna. Please show me the present.” Roman’s lower lip quivered.
Anna beckoned. “This way.”
She led Roman between her two workbenches. He tried to climb up, but she had to stop him. It wouldn’t be worth all the smiles in the world if he ripped his stitches so soon after surgery. From inside a wooden box, Anna removed a small metal arm. She’d built the framework over the course of several years, creating a dozen prototypes before she’d gotten the right design. This one would be the final product once she finished it—if she finished it.
“This is going to be for you.” Anna lowered the arm to Roman’s eye level.
Roman frowned, staring at the intricate metalwork. “What am I going to do with it?”
“Wear it, silly! See, it will fit here and here.” She pointed to the connecting points on the metal cuff and then at his shoulder. “Then you’ll be able to do everything with two arms—like sailing your mighty pirate ship!”
“Running.” Roman still didn’t smile. “Pirates are just stories and games—I want to be a runner like my papa when I’m grown so I can protect you and Mama.”
Anna found it suddenly difficult to swallow.
“Won’t it be heavy?” Roman asked.
“I used the lightest metal I could, but you’ll need to work hard and eat your vegetables so you can grow up to be strong enough to use it.”
Fear flickered in his large blue eyes. “Will it hurt?” Roman asked, holding his shoulder.
Anna didn’t lie to Roman—she’d made that promise to herself a long time ago. “Yes.”
Only then did a grin cross Roman’s face. “Cool!” He reached to touch the metal but drew back. “Can I touch it?”
“Of course. Thank you for asking.” Anna’s chest swelled with pride. What a thoughtful child he’d grown into.
Roman fiddled with the joints in each finger, giggling and gasping as he discovered the full capabilities of the limb.
“You’ll be able to do all that once you’re big enough to use it, just like your other arm.”
Roman cocked his head. “Do I need it?”
Anna had never considered that before. Whenever she made a limb for a client, they’d asked her to. They’d come to her, requested her services. But Roman had never asked for anything but her love—and occasionally something to hammer. Surely someday Roman would need a second arm if he became a runner like Dalton. But as she pondered it, the word need felt less and less appropriate.
“I think you get to decide that,” Anna said finally. Maybe they weren’t the right words, but they were the words she had. “I don’t have anything you can hammer, but how would you like to take this apart?” She held up a silver pocket watch and a screwdriver, which Roman took gleefully.
After returning Roman to his recovery room (a room he’d be able to vacate soon, if his energy during their excursion was anything to go by), Anna found her grandfather waiting for her. Thatcher had placed himself between her and the exit, blocking her escape.
“You left the village.” Thatcher nodded to the mud caked on her boots.
Anna’s breath hitched. She didn’t want to explain herself. She shouldn’t have to.
“You have to stop. It’s too dangerous.”
“I can handle myself.” Anna’s voice rumbled.
Thatcher shook his head, locking the wheels of his chair. “I mean, it’s too dangerous for the entire village. What do you suppose will happen if you’re followed or captured?”
Anna gritted her teeth. “I won’t be.”
“You don’t know what the Commissioner is like.” Thatcher’s words came as a whisper, but they still echoed through the house.
“And you do?”
“I do.” Thatcher let out a long sigh. “I know the pain of the Commissioner’s cruelty firsthand. If he sets his mind to it, he can learn anything from anyone. Believe me, you aren’t prepared for his particular brand of torture.”
“I won’t be told what I can and cannot do. I won’t stop helping my clients.”
“You have to. For the preservation of Mechan, you have to stop.” Again, Thatcher’s whisper caught her like a spider’s web, holding her there.
“Why do you care so much about Mechan? It’s just a town—that’s not the same as human lives.”
“It’s not just a town.” Thatcher sighed heavily. “Mechan is freedom. You’ve never known anything other than this life. You have lived outside a world ruled by misunderstanding and walls. I suppose it’s only natural that you don’t see it the same way.” He unlocked his chair and turned so he faced the window. “We have something here worth protecting.”
Anna’s stomach clenched. She was worth protecting; her clients were worth protecting. Why couldn’t Thatcher see that?
“What would you have me do? Let my clients fend for themselves?” For the second time that day, Anna was struck by the absurdity of defending her right to save lives. Though Nathaniel and Thatcher argued for two separate sides, they essentially wanted the same thing: preservation at the cost of human life. “What of my new client? He has a TICCER, you know. How is he supposed to live without my help? His original surgeon can’t help him, and there are no other mechanics.” But she couldn’t be sure if that was even true.
“He has a TICCER,” Thatcher echoed, placing his face in his palms and shaking his head. “How has he survived without maintenance?”
Anna eyed him. There was no way Thatcher knew Nathaniel hadn’t had any maintenance, not unless …
“You’re the other mechanic, aren’t you?” She took a step toward him. “His TICCER—it’s like mine. You installed it. You installed it, and then you abandoned him.”
“I didn’t think he’d live.” Thatcher buried his face farther into his arms, pulling at his graying hair. “I never expected— I did the right thing. I helped him when he needed me, and I protected my own. His family could have protected him if they’d wanted to.”
Anna’s jaw dropped. “How old was he when you gave him a TICCER? A year, maybe two? You thought by letting a baby die, you were saving your precious way of life? You thought Mechan was more important than his life?”
Thatcher snapped his head up to reveal red rings around his eyes but dry cheeks. “I thought your life was more important than his.”
“My life?” Anna’s arms prickled, and she curled them around her middle, gripping at her sides as if she could pull his choice from within herself, tear it from the past, and hold it up to the light to see for herself.
“Weighing the value of human life is a delicate business, Deirdre-Anne. I do not pretend to be an expert. I did only what my conscience allowed and I cannot regret that.” Thatcher paused. “Stay away from the boy.”
“I won’t leave him to die!”
Thatcher sighed, his eyes boring into hers with a sadness she couldn’t account for. “Your pride is as much poison as it is elixir. You are not untouchable, nor are you invincible.”
Anna’s legs regained feeling as her blood rushed with anger, but before she could reply, Thatcher spun his chair, turning to face her.
“You don’t know who he is, do you?”
Anna’s stomach dropped as she shook her head.
Thatcher sighed, reaching for the kettle. Anna should have known he would need tea for such a weighty conversation. Once it had been brewed and poured, Thatcher gestured for her to sit opposite him at the kitchen table before speaking.
“You were too young to remember, but before we built Mechan, we lived in the Settlement. It wasn’t ideal, but it was home.” He threaded his fingers through the mug handle, gripping it tight. “I ran a clinic without fear of persecution, living strictly by the law, helping where I could. Not all my patients lived—and some still haunt me to this day. Bu
t everything changed when Commissioner Fremont took office.”
Anna sat rigid in her chair. Thatcher had seldom spoken of his life in the Settlement, never lingering on the details of a time before her parents’ deaths. She’d asked, of course, but his answers had never satisfied her curiosity, the pain in his eyes telling her far more than his words ever did.
“With the new Commissioner came new laws, new ways to prevent me from treating my patients. And suddenly, children were getting sick with Tarnish. They needed a doctor—in many cases, a surgeon. Sometimes I could help, but as you know well, more often than not I couldn’t.”
Anna swallowed. The lives lost on Thatcher’s table hung heavy on her shoulders, too.
“You come from a long line of rebels, Deirdre-Anne. Your mother had a passion for justice, and your father a defiant streak not unlike your own.” Thatcher shook his head, eyes closed. “I never thought I’d find myself here, but they knew all along it was a battle we couldn’t win. We were too few, too sick, and the Commissioner too powerful. Your parents didn’t stand a chance.”
“The Commissioner killed them?” Anna asked, remembering the brief explanation he’d supplied in her childhood.
“I thought so.” Thatcher opened his eyes again, new energy in his voice. “When they failed to come home night after night, I thought all was lost. I mourned then—for my child and the grandchild I barely knew.”
Thatcher’s hand encircled her own, and though Anna’s first instinct was to pull away, the tremor in his voice stopped her.
“When they issued the warrant for my arrest, I had no lack of options. Neighbors promised to shield me, and former patients offered to help me escape the city. But I had no reason to flee. If the Commissioner wanted my head, I’d make sure he looked me in the eye before taking it.” He inhaled deeply, eyeing Anna as though he was considering her worth. “What you must understand is that I had always known too much about tech. The Commissioner—and those who came before him—already knew who I was.”
Anna pulled her hand away. Though Thatcher might indulge in sentimentality, she couldn’t find the energy to spend emotions on his regrets. “What did the Commissioner want?”
