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7. Corset

Mar 10, 2010

Bones gave no answer, aside from flickering color-changes in his eyebeams. Remora hadn’t really expected one, although she supposed even the lack of a refusal was a good sign.

Carefully, Remora plucked the tiny purple crystal from its setting in the locket, heart beating faster. Such a fragile thing, to hold so many of her hopes for the future. She bit her lip.

Please, let this work.

Alchemy was the difference between pure engineering and cogsmithing. The Thumper was just a dumb device until she added the source and the focus. She unscrewed the vial from the Thumper’s underbelly, checking its contents carefully. The sun shone through the red liquid, sparking odd highlights from the fragment of starshard already in the phial.
“Is that blood?” asked Bones.

She nodded. “Mine, actually.” Every cogwork aparatus needed a liquid to bind its pieces. Saltwater and pure water were the most common liquids, but those wouldn’t do for this purpose. She was seeking something far more specific, and for that, she needed to considerably narrow down the scope.

This was another reason she hadn’t wanted Serena or Montgomery here. Bones simply looked uncomfortable, but either of the other two cogsmithers would have been aghast at her use of human blood.

Remora knew she was right, though. Cogsmithing was one of the few things she was actually good at, and this felt right to her. It wasn’t as if there was an established formula for the Thumper that she could follow. She had to trust her instincts.

She took a deep breath and dropped the purple crystal into the vial. Exhaling, she watched the shard sink slowly through the blood until it fell to the bottom, nudging against the starshard fragment already inside.

“Are you sure about this?” Bones asked.

“Yes. And no.” Remora screwed the vial back into the Thumper’s belly, giving it a final pat before straightening and giving Bones a smile. “This is the fun part.”

Bones looked less than convinced. She turned away from him, biting her lip as her breath shortened.

Please, please let this work.

She flicked aside the safety catch from the Thumper’s activator, thumb hovering over the wide red button for a fraction of an instant before she pressed it.

The Thumper hummed and she felt the ground beneath her feet vibrate. Pebbles kicked up and skittered down the side of the hill. The Thumper’s head lifted and began to spin in a counterclockwise circle. The humming deepened and she felt her chest tighten.

A soft click announced the Thumper’s eye clicking on. A beam of violet light shot into the distance, striking a cloud to the southwest. The cloud swirled and vanished.

It’s working! It’s working!

Remora couldn’t breathe.

The Thumper’s head continued to rotate. Twice more the purple beam was released. Once to the west. Again, almost due north. When it faced her, the eye flickered to life. The light caught her in the ribs and drew its way across her waist, the smell of burning cloth reaching her nose an instant too late.

Too much. The power was too much! She lunged forward to turn off the Thumper, the beam traveling up between her breasts to trace a jagged and uneven line across her shoulder before she managed to push the button.

She fell backward as the humming stopped, vision spinning. She could smell burnt flesh now, along with the cloth.

Her last thought before passing out was that she had to come up with some way to make sure Hank never found out about this. She’d never live it down.

* * *

Remora woke with the sun in her eyes and the breeze tickling across her cheek.

Something was wrong.

Her hands clutched at the blanket thrown over her and she sat up, gasping in pain as her shoulder protested.

She glanced down. That was no blanket. That was a jacket. Bones’s trenchcoat.

Her breath rattled through her chest, full and unencumbered.

Her eyes widened. One hand dropped below the trenchcoat and traced her ribcage.

Her corset was gone.

Alarm froze her heart and for a moment her vision spun dizzily. Her corset. She had to find her corset, before someone saw her.

“Remora, be calm. You are safe here. I had to remove your corset to survey the damage.” Bones.

Remora froze, eyes focusing on him. For the first time, his ticker body was completely bare before her, thin metallic rods bound together in a parody of the human form. Solid bars mimicked a ribcage to protect his cogsmithing source.

Normally, she would have been fascinated. Normally, she would have asked to look closer, asked him a thousand questions. Right now, her body trembled with the need to run.

Had he seen? How could he not have seen?

He must have noticed the panic in her face. “You are safe,” he repeated.

One of his hands lifted, fingers curled around something. Dozens of tiny gears in his joints spun as he extended his arm toward her. She leaned away, shaking her head.

The fingers unfurled, revealing her worst fears.

A feather.

The wind tugged at the treacherous thing, but Bones snatched it back before it could fly away. The vane of the feather caught the light, shimmering red against maroon. The soft fluff of afterfeather at the base of the shaft was a dull black.

“You know,” she said, her voice hollow.

He nodded.

She pulled her knees to her chest and pressed her forehead into her thighs, not caring that her shoulder screamed at the motion. She forced her closed eyelids against the smooth fabric of his coat until she no longer felt the need to cry.

Freed from their normal prison of her corset, a tiny pair of cherub wings, no longer than her forearm, lifted and arched over her back.

She didn’t have to look back to know what Bones saw. One wing was completely black. The other was only half black, the sooty base of the wing giving way to sleek red and black feathers like the one that Bones held in his hand.

It was over. The moment anyone found out about this, she was ruined. Magnus Price did not have wings. Nor did her mother. Remora hadn’t even needed to do much research into genetics to learn what that meant. Her mother was unquestionably her mother, which meant that Magnus Price was not her father. Therefore, the final heir to the Price fortune wasn’t even truly a Price.

Moments passed in silence, a slight breeze tickling her wings. Sensitive after so many years of being tightly bound beneath her corset, her wings felt each tiny wind eddy and drift, twitching like a cat’s tail.

Bones said nothing.

She lifted her head. Bones wasn’t even looking at her. Instead, he inspected the feather in his hand, staring at it intently.

“I’m a half-breed Seraph bastard,” she said. A knot in her chest tightened. She’d never actually said the words out loud before. The wind ripped them from her lips and danced away with them before she could call them back.

“This feather,” he said quietly, “was from the prison cell in Westmouth.” His eyebeams shifted from the feather to her face, no sign of judgement or derision on his face. He was just … Bones.

The tightness in her chest loosened slightly. She swallowed past it.

She felt bold, reckless. Bones already knew her secret. The thought that anyone knew, she could say these words to anyone at all, made her throw caution to the wind. “Every Seraph half-breed in recorded history has died suddenly on their twentieth birthday, assuming they did not die before that.” She said. Another thing she’d never said out loud.

“You are going to die,” said Bones, eyes flashing a vivid yellow. She’d startled him.

“My birthday is in seven months,” she said. She took a deep breath, her fists knotting in the fabric of his trenchcoat. “I am going to die in seven months.”

6. Illogic

Feb 23, 2010

Remora reached the top of the rocky hillock overlooking Terrapin Isle and promptly collapsed.

They should put up warning signs, truly. The hill had not seemed daunting from below, but she regretted her eagerness and lack of companions well before even reaching the half way point up the steep slope. Her pack gained poundage at an alarming rate and despite stopping once to loose the laces on her corset, her chest still burned and ached from lack of air. Her legs, she was certain, might never bear her weight again, so dreadfully did they shake and quiver.

Testing the device on her own had seemed such a captivating plan back on the Mirage. Serena and Montgomery felt the Thumper wasn’t yet ready for testing, but they had run out of time. They left port on the morrow.

The device would work. Of that, Remora had no doubt. Naturally, that left only one option. It must be tested.

She wanted to do this alone. This was, after all, her quest. The others were only along because she was paying them – she was under no misconception that any of them truly cared about proving Starbirth.

Nor did she expect them to, really. They wouldn’t understand why it was so important to her.

A rock clattered down the slope.

Heart leaping, she rose from her prone position, fingers scrabbling for the pistol in her pocket. “Who is it?” she called out.

No response.

The weapon freed from the folds of her pocket, she checked the level in the alchemy chamber to make sure it was armed. Surely an assassin couldn’t have found her here already. She’d been so careful in using her pseudonym. Everyone here knew her as Miss Gates. “I know someone is out there.” She paused, uncertain. “Jinn, if you have disobeyed my orders and followed me, I shall be quite cross with you!”

Another silent moment passed, during which Remora began to wonder if perhaps the stone had been dislodged by a rabbit. How embarrassing, should anyone have seen her frightened by a rodent!

A tall, slim figure moved from behind a thin tree downslope. Remora’s gun hand shook, then lowered.

“Bones!” Dizzy with relief, she dropped her hands to her lap, hiding their sudden tremble in the folds of her skirt. “What in the name of the dawnstar are you doing here?”

The ticker walked closer, the wind blowing the long legs of his jacket behind him. “Jinn requested that I follow you, as your orders impaired his ability to keep you safe.”

Relief, mingled with disappointment. She’d wanted to test the Thumper herself, but she had to admit that she felt better knowing that Bones was here. She hadn’t expected being alone to feel so very lonely. Just a few days aboard the Miraj and already she’d become accustomed to the company of her crew.

Bones waited patiently for her reply. “Very well,” she said, rising. Her legs still quivered, but her skirts hid the weakness. Perhaps she should begin some sort of physical regimen, such as Jinn practiced. Her adventures might well require that she be fit enough to climb more than a rocky hill before her quest was over, and she could well imagine the look on McCoy’s face should she falter in his presence. The cad might well toss her over his shoulder rather than pause while she collected herself. The thought brought patches of heat to her cheeks.

She would most definitely speak to Jinn of exercises upon her return.

“If I may ask,” Bones said, moving closer, “why did you chose to come here alone? The decision is not a logical one. Either Jinn or I would have been glad to come, and the Shonfra will be cross at missing the testing of your new device.”

Remora nodded, reaching for her pack. “You are correct. It was a terribly illogical act.”

Bones’ eyes flashed, intent. “But you are a cogsmith. Surely you understand the importance of logic and order. Why behave in a manner you know to be senseless?’

Remora thought about her answer as she removed the Thumper from her pack. She held the slim, coppery device at arms length and flicked a safety catch with her thumb to reach the button beneath it. Pressed, the button released the springs holding the Thumper’s legs, which telescoped out to one side, creating a sturdy tripod. She placed the tripod firmly on the ground and pressed another button which released the rod from the center of the device toward the dusty ground below. As it lowered itself, biting into the earth and burying its nose in the ground, she finally answered Bones.

“As a cogsmith, I also value serendipity and imagination. The world is an illogical and disorderly place, Bones.” She paused and turned her head to the side, surveying him. The rod reached its required depth and stopped. “I know so little about tickers. What I’ve read in the Ardelan Encyclopedia seems to be constantly refuted by you, so I do hope you’ll forgive if I ask a silly question. You seem no more soulless than I and you’ve displayed emotion on more than one occasion. Emotion is, I believe, the root of illogical behavior.”

“If you know this,” said Bones, eyebeam colors whirling, “why not strive to eliminate emotion and become more logical?”

“If I were a truly logical creature, I should never have found myself in the Jolly Rooster, and I should never have met you.” Her smile softened. “And I am very glad to have met you, Bones.”

“So!” she said, lifting the locket from her necklace and opening the clamshell, “I believe that although illogic can lead to misfortune, it can also lead to great rewards. I try to do one illogical thing each day. They say that fortune favors the bold, my dear Bones, and I believe them.”

“What do you say?” she asked, eyes sparkling and sun casting odd highlights from the purple crystal in her locket. “Shall we do something illogical?”

5. Terrorist

Feb 9, 2010

The egg-shaped craft stilled for a moment, the Shonfra’s eyes meeting Hank’s squarely. Hank tensed, one hand sliding down to the holstered grapplegun at his hip. If the Shonfra turned violent, he didn’t trust Jinn to protect him.

“Terrorist?” Remora asked, breaking the silence. “Don’t be ridiculous. Montgomery, I apologize for my companion’s utter lack of manners. What an unconscionable accusation. McCoy, do apologize!”

Montgomery chittered, his ship translating. “I am no longer affiliated with the Swampers. If I were, do you honestly think I would be in this hellhole looking for work?”

If he was willing to call them “Swampers” rather than insisting on calling them “Freedom Fighters” or whatever half-brained politically-correct title they were using these days, he might be telling the truth. Still, he didn’t deny that he used to be a Swamper, and Swampers weren’t exactly known for their fair and honest dealings.

Hank shook his head. “I need a pilot I can trust, someone I can count on.” He turned a pointed gaze to Jinn. “Unless I can be certain that every member of my crew will follow orders and not abandon us to fulfill personal obligations, I can’t guarantee the success of the mission.”

Jinn said nothing, though his eyes narrowed slightly. Remora gave him an annoyed look, but Hank ignored her. Bringing Jinn along was her idea, not his, and he saw no reason to make the Shinra’ere comfortable.

The Shonfra’s craft landed on the counter. Montgomery bounded from the pilot’s chair, chattering. Behind him, his ship continued translation.

Primarily rodent-like in shape, the Shonfra balanced on muscled hind legs, thickly webbed toes splaying with each hopping waddle-step. His four stubby front arms waved expressively as he spoke. His froggish skin was a pale blue with bright red stripes running from his eyes to his toes.

The most impressive and startling thing about Montgomery was the thick ridge of scars trailing down his back. Hank could see the contacts where his forewings and hindwings should be, but instead of the vividly-colored insectoid wings that should be there, Montgomery had only twisted stumps.

That explained the Shonfra’s bizarre craft, then. Without his wings, Montgomery couldn’t fly. It also lent credibility to his assertion that he wasn’t a Swamper any more. A wingless Shonfra was a liability.

“If I sign to a ship, I can assure you that my loyalty is absolute.”

Hank scoffed. The word of a Swamper? “No offense intended, Montgomery, but your people are better known for violence and betrayal than honor. I’d be a fool to trust my ship to you. I sympathize with the Shonfra’s plight, but sabotaging civilian airships and blowing up colonies is not the way free your people.” Hank shook his head, voice hard. “I had friends at Remus Seven.”

Startled, Remora spoke without thinking. “Remus Seven? I was told that was a thundranium mining explosion!”

Montgomery gave a mournful chitter. “I am sorry for your loss, and ashamed of what my people have become. I am not the Shonfra I was when I joined the Swampers.”

“But,” Montgomery said, straightening and waving all four forelegs at Hank, tail slapping the countertop for emphasis, “I am the best pilot you’re going to find, and a skilled cogsmith, besides.”

Hank pursed his lips, thinking. If Montgomery were telling the truth about being done with the Swampers, he could be a valuable asset. “Have you ever flown an HH?”

Montgomery cocked his head to the side, almond eyes widening. “You have an HH? A full ship, nest and hawks all?”

Hank nodded.

“Impressive,” replied Montgomery, tail curling. “I am familiar with the nest and have flown both hawk models. I prefer the maneuverability of the sparhawk to the heavier thrusthawks.”

Hank lifted an eyebrow. The Shonfra certainly knew his stuff. “How do you reach the controls?” Hank asked.

Montgomery snorted, the sound more like a sneeze than a scoff. “You take me for an amateur? My pod plugs into a standard wheel configuration. I can manipulate the entire ship from the cabin seat in the craft without ever needing to touch the human-sized controls. In the event that the interface is incompatible with my pod, I have a cogwork suit I can use.”

Remora choked. Eyes gleaming, she leaned forward. “You have a cogwork suit?”

“A modified mining suit,” the Shonfra said, preening.

“Where did you get one? I asked for one for my birthday last year, but I got a bracelet or something instead.”

“I got it from — “ Montgomery paused. “Does it matter?”

Hank reached up and rubbed his chin, the days-old stubble rough against his fingertips. “Not to me, it doesn’t. Six months. That’s how long the contract is for. No bombings, no rescue crusades, no changes of heart, no sabotage, no harboring fugitives or Swampers.” Hank paused. “Unless I ask you to, of course.”

Mongomery laughed, the bright chitters echoed by a flat mechanical “Ha ha ha,” from the ship. “We haven’t discussed the terms of my payment.”

“One hundred gold doubloons. Flat payment, at the end of the contract.”

Serena scoffed, “And just where did you get that kind of money? You still owe me ten doubloons from two years ago!”

“I’m missing the part where that’s any of your business, Serena.”

Serena stilled as Hank’s gaze met hers.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Montgomery. “It’s not money I want.”

All eyes in the room turned to the little Shonfra. “Our people can never be free while our queens remain in human hands. You free a queen for me and I will fly your ship and follow your commands. I swear it on the wings of my brothers.”