“Get back!” a watchman shouted, a wooden baton in his fist.
A line of watchmen pushed the cyborg performers back as dozens attempted to rush Gwen’s office when the theater doors opened for the morning before rehearsals started.
It had been this way for more than a week.
Her office was a cacophony of noises—shouting voices, grinding gears, sparking implants. Sweat poured down the sides of Gwen’s cheeks, plopping onto the floor as she worked on Marzanna’s foot.
“No new implants will be ordered,” one watchman called, his monotone voice raised to be heard over the crowd. “Only the final ten acts will receive new parts for their current implants. In the meantime, we recommend you make time to see the tinkerer for any serious technology glitches prior to the second competition. Refurbished materials can and will be used.”
Gritting her teeth, Gwen reached a gloved hand into the inner workings of Marzanna’s foot and replaced several faulty wires. The machine sparked as she worked, but she doused it, hurriedly working to secure the wires into the machine.
It would be so convenient if I knew what I was doing.
Unlike Rora’s hand, which sparked with overuse due to outdated machinery, Marzanna’s foot appeared to have been installed improperly. The response time lagged when she tried to move too quickly, and the foot often flopped as she spun in the air or dragged as she walked. Certain wires and plates connected to her flesh weren’t symmetrical all the way around, making her ankle turn in and her one leg longer than the other.
When she finished on Marzanna’s foot, Gwen recalled her list of things to address. Turn off the battery, detach and remove faulty wires, check systems for any additional malfunctions, install new wiring, double-check the wiring and color-coding, turn the system back on.
That should do it.
With her lack of new supplies since the second competition, she’d been hard-pressed to find the right wiring for the implants. From the notes she’d taken for herself the night before, she knew she needed at least eight different varieties of wires. If she had the manual of the implant, she’d know for certain. As it was, she had to guess which wires went with which classes based on size and general appearance.
Stars, she prayed she did this right.
Like every day before, she barely managed to get by. Thanks to this ludicrous competition, she not only had no idea how to be a cyborg tinkerer but now she had no time to learn. The books in her office were outdated pieces of shit, more useless than the scraps of metal, mismatched screws, and other machinery lying around her office shelves. She needed to get medical textbooks, the kind that would have been outlawed or collected by the Union ten years ago.
Gwen closed the panel on Marzanna’s foot. “All set. Thanks for your patience. Hopefully, it shouldn’t lag as much. Truthfully, it looks like the unit wasn’t installed properly, but I don’t have the tools or the skills to surgically remove it and reinstall it. But if you keep it clean and dry, it should get you through the next few weeks.”
“Thanks.” Marzanna hopped off the table and tested her foot, slowly shifting her weight from one foot to another. “It’s better.”
Unable to stop herself, Gwen sighed.
Marzanna nodded to where Rora rehearsed atop the slackline across the theater… without so much as turning her head in Gwen’s direction. “You two still not talking?”
Rora had been the only performer who refused to have her cyborg implant inspected since the first competition. When Gwen watched her train, she could tell from the way Rora avoided using the hand that something wasn’t working properly.
Gwen ran a hand over the half of her head where she’d never stopped shaving since her implantation surgery. “Is it that obvious?”
Planting one hand on a hip, Marzanna raised an eyebrow. “The sexual tension up in here is so thick, it’s distracting. Stop being a little bitch and talk to her.”
“That’s easier said than done,” Gwen grumbled. “She won’t listen to me.”
Marzanna rolled her eyes, striding back toward the theater. “Make her listen.”
Gwen sighed.
Great pep talk.
The watchmen permitted more cyborgs in throughout the day. But in every free moment Gwen had, she pulled out a secret project she’d been working on since the first competition, using every spare part that wasn’t garbage and careful not to let anyone spot it. As soon as the bell struck, indicating rehearsals were done for the day, she hurried out of her office and toward the dormitories.
Before she’d gotten far, she hesitated, looking over her shoulder.
Three watchmen followed her.
“Can I help you?”
No one moved or spoke.
Sighing, she said, “Why are you following me?”
The center watchman, a woman, spoke up. “The Mistress has decreed there shall be a guard around the tinkerer at all times for her safety.”
She didn’t doubt performers from thirty-six acts either wanted her help or wanted her dead. Though she suspected that wasn’t the real reason she was being followed.
The Mistress is making sure I don’t step out of line again.
Gritting her teeth, she didn’t say anything as she turned and strode to the dormitories. She tried to ignore the single question swirling around her thoughts.
Can I survive without my implant?
She knew the Mistress’s threat to take out her eye wasn’t an idle one, but she’d had the surgery to remove the tumor in her head. The cyborg eye was a bonus. Could she survive without the plating in her skull? How far could she push the Mistress’s boundaries?
Most of the performers were cleaning up before the evening meal. Rather than going to her room in a separate wing of the palace, Gwen strode straight to a door at the end of the hall.
Hesitating, she glanced over her shoulder to the three watchmen hovering behind her. With a groan, she swallowed her pride and knocked on the door.
The door opened, revealing Rora, who looked as though she’d just bitten into a lemon.
“Tinkerer, at your service,” Gwen began awkwardly before clearing her throat. “I’m here to look at that hand. Since… Well, since you seemed pretty busy at rehearsals today.”
Since you’ve been ignoring me this past week.
Rolling her eyes, Rora moved to shut the door. Expecting as much, Gwen shoved a screwdriver into the door, blocking it before it could click shut.
“Go away,” Rora bit out.
“Can we talk?” Gwen gestured to the watchmen lingering in the hallway behind her. “I’m trying to help you here.”
Rora held the door, unmoving.
“Please, just give me five minutes,” Gwen persisted, not daring to remove the screwdriver. “If you think I’m full of shit by the end of it, I’ll leave you alone.”
Rora’s gaze shifted to the watchmen loitering in the hallway. Performers awkwardly trundled around them, pausing long enough to frown at the watchmen, Gwen, Rora, and the state of the Union before finally moving along.
“Fine.” Opening the door, Rora took a step back into her less than immaculate bedroom. “Five minutes.”
“Excellent.” Gwen bolted into Rora’s room before closing the door in one of the watchmen’s faces. “You won’t regret it.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
How the hell did I fall for a fucking pessimist?
Gwen paused as she removed her toolbelt.
Had she fallen for Rora? That was ludicrous. You couldn’t fall for someone you hardly knew. Rora was just… well, she was beautiful. And Gwen wanted to fuck her beautiful, dark, petite body. That was all.
Slowly, she donned her usual rubber gloves after laying out her instruments on the only clean section of the floor she could find. Grabbing several tools, she sat on the edge of Rora’s bed, gesturing for the gymnast to join her.
Still not speaking, Rora sat down, the bed squeaking beneath their combined weight.
Slowly, Gwen unscrewed Rora’s main panel. Before she could open it, the unit sparked. Electricity flickered out, biting through Gwen’s glove.
Hissing, she yanked off the scorched glove and tossed it onto the floor.
“Are you okay—” Rora began. But when Gwen looked up, their eyes meeting for what felt like the first time in weeks, she closed her mouth—as though afraid to show sympathy.
Gwen didn’t bother digging around her tool kit for a new glove. Instead, she studied Rora’s hand as she held it between her own, one gloved, one bare. Even though it wasn’t Rora’s flesh—and she likely couldn’t process the touch the same as skin to skin—Gwen’s stomach fluttered at their nearness. Her mind drifted to the moments when they’d held each other on the dance floor, ignoring the dance and dancers alike as Rora moved Gwen in sweeping steps through the song.
Why didn’t I kiss her?
As Gwen peeled back the panel, she thought of her secret project and how Rora was in desperate need of an upgrade or better yet, a replacement. If Gwen had seen machinery on a ship in the shape Rora’s arm was in, she would have pulled it out and sold it as scrap metal long ago. The battery was in good condition. In fact, the battery was one of the more recent models—the kind that recharges itself with motion. But the implant had been refurbished too many times and could no longer function at full capacity.
As it was, Gwen could do little to help Rora besides replace a few parts and wires and clean it up.
“Has your hand been malfunctioning or performing strangely since—” Gwen began but was cut off.
“Since you played me like a fool at the ball?” Pursing her lips, Rora studied the wall behind Gwen. “The response time is slower, and the movements are stiffer. But the sparking has remained the same.”
Gwen stopped working and looked up at Rora. “What are you talking about? You were the one who asked me to go to that ball. Shouldn’t I be pissed at you for flirting with me only when you needed a date and then ignoring me?”
“Needed a date?” Rora’s eyes snapped to her then, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve gone to plenty of balls without dates and had a good time with my friends. People who wouldn’t lie to me.”
“How did I lie to you?” Gwen grit her teeth.
“You knew the competition was happening,” Rora said. “That’s why you didn’t want to come to the ball. Why didn’t you just warn me? I would’ve worn my performance gear underneath my dress. I could have been better prepared, I…”
When she trailed off, Rora’s eyes skirted up to Gwen, who stared at her, slack-jawed.
“You think I knew about that? Bastian only told me what was happening after you were all brought into the other room.”
Shifting her shoulders, Rora averted her gaze to the nearby changing screen. “Then why didn’t you want to go to the ball? You weren’t trying to avoid the competition?”
“I’m a terrible dancer, and I don’t play nicely with other children.”
Rora sniffed. “What changed your mind?”
Gwen exhaled slowly. “Isn’t it obvious? A beautiful woman asked me to go.” Finally, Rora’s eyes found hers. Although her gaze had softened from its former granite state, it was clear the woman still hadn’t put her guard down.
“I want to help you,” Gwen continued. “What the show management team is doing to the performers is barbaric. Dissecting cyborgs like they are worthless investments...” She shook her head.
Rora’s teeth sank into her rosebud lips. “I heard the performers from the fourteen losing acts all survived with the exception of those who died during the competition. Is that true?”
Gwen nodded.
Rora’s gaze slid back to the shelves. “It might have been a mercy to let them die.”
“Everyone deserves a chance to live,” Gwen said, surprised. “Even if it’s a hard life.”
Sighing, Rora softened. “I know.”
Reaching out, Gwen took Rora’s human hand in hers. “I want to help you. I can fix up your hand as best as I can, but until you get a new implant, it’s going to be damage control. Let me help you achieve your dream of performing for the emperor. But I can’t unless you let me.”
Although Rora didn’t hold Gwen’s hand in return, she hadn’t pulled away either.
“You really didn’t know?” Rora asked.
Gwen shook her head. “I had no idea the competition was happening that night… or the consequences for the losing performers. If I had, I would have warned you.”
Perhaps I could have convinced you to run away with me.
The thought came unbidden. As it faded to the back of Gwen’s thoughts, it left a trail of warmth behind.
Rora nodded. “I believe you.”
Well, hot dandy. It’s about time.
“What do we do now?”
Scratching her head, Gwen studied the mess that was Rora’s cyborg hand. “We get you in the best shape we can.” She opened her mouth to say more, but closed it.
Plucking up her tools, she went to work, trying to think of Rora’s hand like she would a malfunctioning machine on a ship.
As she worked, she sighed.
“What is it?” Rora prodded.
Gwen blew air out between her lips. “While I will do everything I can to make sure your hand is functioning, there’s another way to make sure you get into the top ten acts.”
Rora leaned forward on the bed, head cocked to the side.
“Have you considered joining another act—?” Gwen began, but Rora immediately made a disgusted noise.
“And here I thought you were different, that you believed in me. But you’re just like everyone else.” Rora angrily shook her head. “I want to be the best, and I want to earn it on my own. How can no one see that?”
Throwing away her sense of self-preservation, Gwen said, “It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable.” Rora slapped the panel on her hand shut, pushed past Gwen, and made for the door. “But think about it. If your hand is prone to malfunction, wouldn’t it make sense to join another performance where there are other performers who can compete if you can’t perform at your full capacity?”
Rora spun on her heel. “I appreciate your overwhelming confidence, Ms. Grimm, but I’m perfectly capable of winning this competition by myself.”
Gwen nearly growled in frustration. None of this was coming out the way she’d hoped.
“You are a strong, capable woman. And fucking resilient.” Gwen’s voice softened as Rora reached for the door. Although she would respect Rora’s boundaries, she had to speak these words—even if it killed her pride to do so. “But I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about… and even though we’ve just met, I’m already terrified of losing you.” Rora’s hand froze in midair. “Three cyborgs died. More than fifty people were stripped of their implants and banished from the circus to stars know where. The fact that they lived was a stroke of luck. I’m no cyborg tinkerer. Who’s to say that next time… that if you…” Gwen took a breath. “I’m afraid if I have to operate on you, I won’t think quick enough or do the right thing. I sure as hell don’t have the experience. And you might die because of me.”
When Rora turned around, her eyes were wide.
“You wanted me to join another performance because… you’re afraid you’ll hurt me?”
Swallowing back the lump in her throat, Gwen nodded.
Once, she’d been confident she could learn how to become a cyborg tinkerer. She’d joined the circus, excited for the challenge. Now, she wasn’t so sure if she had what it took, if she was smart enough. She’d become the best in her field once, but perhaps that was a stroke of luck.
Shaking her head, Rora closed the distance between them, reaching her human hand out and clasping Gwen’s. “I think it’s time someone reassured you how strong and capable you are. You saved fifty-two people, Gwen. That wasn’t just luck. You’re smart. And I trust you with my life.”
Rora was so close Gwen could smell her perfume—roses and peach blossoms. Heart fluttering, Gwen’s breath grew shallow and her mouth went dry. She looked down at the shorter woman, who was far from fragile. Arms corded with lean muscles, she was strong and capable, just as Gwen had said. And she was looking up at Gwen with… could that be desire in her eyes?
Licking her lips, Gwen managed to take a shallow breath. Everything in her screamed to lean down, to kiss this woman she’d grown fond of so quickly. They weren’t guaranteed tomorrow. Still, she wanted to do this right. This was more than a quick fling.
Grabbing Rora’s human hand, she brought it to her lips.
As she did, she marveled at the warmth of Rora’s touch and the loyalty behind those eyes. It reminded her of the way her parents had…
It was gone.
Fear seized her veins, and she tried not to show it on her face to Rora.
When Gwen tried to think of the faces of her parents, she could remember nothing but faint silhouettes with black hair. Did her mother have a kind face? Did her father have a strong jaw or a straight nose?
The Forgetting, she realized. It’s beginning.
According to what Rora had shared with Gwen at the ball, the acrobat couldn’t remember her parents’ faces either. But she had been a cyborg for two years. Gwen had been a cyborg for weeks. How were her memories fading already?
I can’t forget. I won’t forget. But how can I stop it?
But her chances of stopping the Forgetting were as likely as saving all of the cyborgs she would soon be forced to harvest.
Doing the only thing she knew how to do, she fucking compartmentalized and pushed the Forgetting to the back of her mind. She would deal with that later.
As she looked at Rora, a single thought came to mind.
This is my family now. Defending these cyborgs comes first.
“Shall we get to work?” Gwen gestured to Rora’s implant.
A smile spread across Rora’s lips as she seated herself once more. “One of these days, I’ll figure you out, Gwendolyn Grimm.”
Gwen smiled in return. “I hope you do.”