Balancing atop the railing on the main deck of Obedient, Rora strode past the performers waiting in line to depart down the gangway.
“Get in line, bitch,” a man called.
Rora spared a glance over her shoulder. Her least favorite archer scowled in her direction. “Good morning, Abrecan. I see you didn’t die in your sleep.” She flipped forward atop the railing and landed neatly on the gangway. “I’ll just have to pray harder.”
“Fucking acrobats. Walking around like they own the place.”
His further obscenities were lost in the noise of the crowd.
Performers with rolling leather bags and packed satchels crowded the deck of the ship and the connecting series of docks, eager to return to a home they hadn’t seen in months.
A home no one had expected to see for many more months.
Why were they back?
Unlike that miserable moon, Anchorage, Grandstand had its own natural gravity and fresh air that didn’t smell like deep-fried roadkill.
Here, ships docked on open waters like the Ancients—when travel was limited to sailing over the seas. The notion seemed terribly romantic.
“Rora! Slow down!” a woman called from farther back on the docks. The sound was accompanied by the loud, rhythmic thump of a rolling wardrobe.
Smiling, Rora rolled her eyes.
She knew the sound of those ungreased wheels anywhere.
Turning around, Rora spotted Marzanna and Akio trundling down the docks. As they moved, one of the wooden boards bowed from the weight, nearly dumping them into the icy waters of the bay as one of the wardrobe’s wheels caught on it. With Marzanna pushing from behind and Akio pulling from the front, they yanked it free, earning disgruntled shouts from the dockworkers and sailors who’d had to jump out of their way as the wardrobe—and its two protectors—lumbered down the docks.
Rora stepped to the side, allowing other performers to pass her. As her friends approached, she said, “You do realize there are employees whose job it is to carry our larger luggage, right?”
Sweat streaked down the sides of Marzanna’s face as she raised an eyebrow. “And trust our latest batch of ragamuffins with my things? I think not.”
With a grunt, Marzanna and Akio heaved the rolling wardrobe forward, following the milling crowds headed toward the shore.
Eyeing the cyborg animals as their cages were unloaded from the ship, Marzanna shook her head. “Why are we back?”
Akio shrugged. “Hell if I know. Weren’t we supposed to perform on Botany next?”
Marzanna sniffed. “Bastian promised us pay after that performance. They owe me for at least two months of work.”
Akio chuckled. “Yeah, two months of gambling marks.”
Leaning toward him as though to slap him, Marzanna narrowed her eyes but kept her hands on the rolling wardrobe.
Marzanna had once been a man named Jared. But her gender and sexuality were as fluid as the waters beneath them. Over time, she’d taken on a new name.
Akio, Marzanna’s partner in their trapeze performances only, was a short man with broad shoulders, near-black hair, and narrow eyes.
Despite their separate acts in the circus, the three of them had bonded over cheap ale in a lousy pub in the city of Apparatus and had been inseparable since.
At the end of the docks, a line of watchmen awaited the performers.
As ever, the paid mercenaries wore their usual dark pants and buttoned shirts along with two pistols strapped to their backs, a sword sheathed at one hip and a wooden baton at the other, and a top hat with a mask.
Not for the first time, Rora wondered why they never showed their faces. Perhaps they didn’t want to be seen associating with cyborgs.
“All performers are to report to the main theater at once.” Even though the words were muffled behind the watchman’s mask, there was a noticeable lack of emotion as the man shouted to be heard above the noise.
What in the galaxy? They’d never been called to the theater like this before.
“Why?” someone behind Rora called.
“The Mistress has requested an audience with the entire cast immediately upon arrival.” Again, the mercenary’s words lacked any emotion at all.
Eyes narrowed, Rora followed the line of performers leaving the docks, shoving down a rising feeling of dread she couldn’t quite explain.
They walked past storefronts to the massive castle at the center of the city. Apparatus lacked the organization of traditional Union cities, as this one centered around the needs of Cirque du Borge. Tailors, wigmakers, launderers, and makeup artists set up shops closest to the palace, with the usual bakers, butchers, blacksmiths, and the like having storefronts nearby.
Wisps of smoke lingered above sections of the city.
Had there been another dragon attack recently?
Similar to cyborgs, dragons were among the Union’s undesirables. Cyborgs, dragons, and the other outcasts of society found their way to the planet of Grandstand—or were deposited onto it, in the case of the dragons.
Most dragons had been hunted down and killed over the past few centuries. But the humanitarians and wildlife specialists had fought against the extinction of dragons after the emperor’s rise to power. Thus, the cyborgs had the pleasure of their company and frequent raids into the cities for food.
Looking at yet more sections of the city ravished by dragon flame, Rora wondered what they’d been thinking.
Men and women shuffled through the main gate of the palace and into the theater’s open doors, which had been rolled up with a crank lever to let the performers enter more swiftly. Yet another oddity. Why not have the performers enter through the theater’s main doors inside the palace?
Ropes, ladders, hoops, silks, swings, and other contraptions hung from the ceiling. Some were neatly draped over hooks on the walls while others swung freely in the open air. Boxes, trampolines, tightropes, wheels, and hollow metal balls were stacked to the side of the circular stage.
Rora and her friends took their place among the performers gathering around the main stage. Dozens more performers filed in behind them. They looked strange dressed in brightly colored civilian clothing rather than their usual performance garb.
Amongst the performers, a flash of dark leather caught Rora’s eye, and she turned. Entering the theater was a tall, lean form silhouetted by the sunlight. Even shadowed as it was, the woman’s gaze seemed to mask a deeper darkness.
As the newcomer entered the theater, Rora could see she wore the clothes of a tinkerer—a leather jacket with sewn elbow patches, matching leather pants, tall boots, and a toolbelt with an assortment of tools, including welding goggles.
A new recruit.
Rora had never seen this woman before. Stars, she would have remembered that tall, sinewy figure anywhere.
Still silhouetted by the sun behind her, the woman glanced briefly at the crowd of performers—all of whom were eyeing her with barely masked interest. But she took little note of them or the ringleader trailing her as she walked into the theater with her head held high. Despite what appeared to be a dark purple circle around her right eye, the woman had flawless skin. Midnight black hair hung loose over her right shoulder.
As if sensing Rora’s gaze, the tinkerer turned, revealing what type of cyborg implant she’d received.
The tinkerer’s left eye was a first-grade implant that twisted and flashed as her gaze settled on Rora. Half of her head had been shaved to the scalp, and there were faint outlines where stitches must have recently dissolved.
A very new recruit. That scar couldn’t be more than a few weeks old.
A shiver crept up Rora’s spine as she remembered just what her implantation surgery had been like. More than once, she’d wished for death, despite having sought out Cirque du Borge. But she’d been determined to secure patronage as a performer—even if it meant giving up a few things.
Rora held the stranger’s gaze, allowing a faint smile to touch her lips as she nodded her head in greeting.
The woman’s human eye narrowed, her face devoid of expression.
And my, was it a lovely face—with or without her cyborg eye.
Again, Rora sensed a deeper darkness in the tinkerer’s hardened gaze, and she couldn’t help but wonder just what hardships those eyes had seen.
Bastian leaned in, whispering into her ear. Blinking, the tinkerer turned toward him. Just like that, their connection was broken. He guided the woman away, leading her to some other part of the theater, and they were both lost in the crowd.
An idea stirred in the back of Rora’s mind, just beyond her conscious grasp. More than that, something else stirred. Desire tingled between her legs, so strongly she breathed in sharply. It had been years since she’d felt so carnally attracted to another person, and it had never been this immediate.
How very interesting.
Rora mulled on the encounter for the remaining time it took for all three hundred performers to enter the theater. Though her eyes roamed the crowd, her body was restless. Beside her, her friends chatted companionably.
As the last performer entered the theater, the doors rolled shut behind them, snuffing out the sunlight. Gasps echoed around the room. Heads turned toward the watchmen, who locked the doors. Before Rora could think upon the implications, a single spotlight clicked on, and she turned her gaze back toward the stage.
Celeste Beckett, Mistress of Cirque du Borge and Keeper of Beasts, stood proudly in the artificial light. Garbed in a floor-length red gown as bright as her hair, she stood at the center of the stage, shadows forming beneath sharp cheekbones. Hands clasped before her, she nodded in greeting to the room.
“Welcome home.” Celeste’s voice was as rich as the velvet gown she wore. “As you may be aware, we had a change of plans in our performances, but we appreciate your flexibility.”
Shadows spotted the edges of the room as dozens of watchmen stationed themselves at every exit.
What the hell was going on? Was the Mistress trying to prevent people from leaving? Rora glanced around, but the other performers only had eyes for Celeste.
With no other choice, she turned her attention back to the stage. Bastian and the entire show management team stood at attention behind the Mistress.
“We have received word from our most treasured emperor,” the Mistress continued. “He will be hosting a gala and has invited Cirque du Borge to attend.”
Rather than cheers from poor circus performers desperate for opportunities, the room fell utterly silent.
The emperor invited Cirque du Borge? Was this some kind of joke?
Why would the emperor seek the company of the people he so openly despised? Didn’t he know how it would look? He would be seen as a hypocrite at best and a traitor to the Union’s ideals at worst—ideals he created.
Emperor Titus Valerius had capitalized on humankind’s fears, securing his place ten years ago as the leader of what had once been the warring planets of the Crescent Star System. Under his charismatic rule, they had united against their new enemy: cyborgs.
Cyborgs are modern day’s greatest threat to the safety of society. These creatures are more machine than human. They are nothing but super soldiers that can be controlled by terrorists and used against the good people of the Union.
Bogus propaganda.
She’d seen the headlines from countless journalists and knew them for the garbage they were. No one could control her mind any more than they could control the mind of a human. The chip in a cyborg’s brain was good only for the control of their cyborg implants and nothing more.
Not only did the emperor scare all cyborg tinkerers and experts out of the Crescent Star System, but he’d also been involved in the elimination of the original creators of cyborgs, the Bellemore family. After the emperor’s rise to power, the feds went to arrest Javier and Emmeline Bellemore, the two scientists who’d created and mass manufactured cyborg technology. However, an unexplained fire destroyed the cyborg implant manufacturing facilities, laboratories, and the entire Bellemore estate and also took the life of the Bellemores.
Thus, the cyborg circus had to deal with their declining popularity and resources ever since—and lack of invitations to elite places such as the capital.
Despite her skepticism, Rora couldn’t suppress the flicker of hope surging in her veins. Could this be her second chance to secure the emperor’s patronage? It seemed too good to be true.
“It seems the emperor has intentions to change the Cyborg Prohibition Law,” the Mistress continued. “According to his invitation, his once conservative Union Council now has new members who are… more open-minded toward cyborgs. He hopes that the circus’s attendance will help to convince the governors and governesses to change the law and legalize implant production again—and heavily tax it.”
The entire room broke out into excited whispers.
Rora blinked, not believing her ears.
Was it possible? Could what happened during the emperor’s rise to power all be from his inner circle, who had eventually become the Union Council? Was she going to finally be accepted in the Union as a cyborg?
Rora couldn’t even imagine what her life might be like after her contract was over if the law was changed. The possibilities made her mind spin.
“Not everyone will be invited to attend the emperor, however,” the Mistress said over the whispers, which quickly died down as everyone was eager to hear her next words. “In the coming weeks, all performers will compete for the opportunity to travel to Covenant in three months. Ten acts will be chosen to attend His Imperial Highness. Our show management team will oversee the competition and select the winners. The competition will begin in a few days, along with a ball to kick things off.”
First the emperor might change the law, and now a ball?
Immediately, Rora’s thoughts turned to the gowns in her closet that hadn’t been worn since she became a cyborg. Cirque du Borge hadn’t hosted a ball in the two years since Rora had joined the circus. She could picture it now—Akio, Marzanna, and herself dressed up for no one but themselves, dominating the dance floor as they would the stage. Then darkness descended over her thoughts, blood rushing to her cheeks.
If Bastian secured additional funds, why not pay us?
The Mistress spared a condescending smile for the whispering crowd of performers. “You must all be tired after the journey. Go to your rooms, rest, and prepare yourselves for the exciting weeks ahead.”
With a final nod, the Mistress descended the stage, the spotlight snapping off.
“That’s it?” Rora blurted.
But her words were drowned in the buzz of conversation. Uneasy hope hovered over the room like the smog above Anchorage.
The watchmen moved aside from the exits, opening doors and allowing the performers to exit. As though they hadn’t been guarding the exits the whole time.
Marzanna grabbed Rora’s elbow, ushering her toward the door. Akio grabbed the handle of the rolling wardrobe, pulling it after them.
As they filed out of the theater and down the palace’s long halls toward the dormitories, her friends discussed improvements they could make to their trapeze act.
As they walked, Rora clung to hope. This was her second chance, and she wasn’t about to miss out. She would make it into the top ten acts and fulfill her dream of securing patronage. But how?
Absently, she looked at her outdated robotic installation from her elbow to her right hand. If she had any hope of winning this competition, her hand would need updating. Or better yet, a complete replacement—something that was against circus rules.
Slowly, an idea crystallized in her mind.
An idea surrounding the beautiful new tinkerer.