Gwen peered down at her steeped morning brew, which smelled suspiciously like last week’s stew.
As had become her habit, she sat at the table for circus staff in the mess hall with Bastian and several other cyborgs. The healer, Barbosa Brower, ate his food with an open mouth while Bastian didn’t eat at all. Despite the riveting company, her gaze strayed toward Rora’s table, where the acrobat sat alongside her friends, laughing and chatting.
Darkness settled over Gwen’s thoughts as her stomach twisted in knots.
Sensing her gaze, Rora looked up, and their eyes locked. She flashed a set of perfect square teeth. A look Gwen couldn’t read caught in Rora’s eyes before she turned her attention back to her friends.
Not until the early hours of the morning had Gwen finished installing Rora’s new hand. Somewhere near the end, Rora had passed out on the floor. Not having the heart to wake her, Gwen carried her to her bed before falling asleep on the floor.
When Gwen awoke later that morning, already late for breakfast, Rora had been gone. Rather than waking up to the face of the woman she was falling for, Gwen found a note beside her on the floor, which said, “Thank you! See you later today?”
It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did. Dark suspicion clouded her thoughts, and she tried to push it back. But it came to the forefront of her mind again and again.
Did Rora use me?
Why else would she conveniently disappear the morning after Gwen installed her new hand? It felt a hell of a lot like waking up to cold sheets beside her the morning after a good fuck.
Calm the fuck down. She probably had to do something this morning.
Not to mention, Rora had asked to see her later today.
The sound of a fork scraping against a plate grated Gwen’s senses, bringing her back to the present. Her eye twitched in response, sending a wave of pain through her. The swelling had yet to go down from Celeste’s recent beating.
“Rough night?” Bastian raised an eyebrow, setting his fork down and leaning forward on his elbows.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Gwen lied.
The few hours of sleep she’d gotten last night weren’t enough to make up for a sleepless night and the horrors within those days.
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”
Swallowing a gulp of the loathsome brew, Gwen forced a smile. “Why so curious? Does the great Bastian Kabir want to give me a reason to stay up late?”
“While I appreciate the offer, I prefer my women to sleep only with me.”
“How terribly boring.”
“Some people would call it intimate.”
Mirroring Bastian’s position, Gwen leaned forward so that her breasts pressed against the tabletop. “Those people are prudes.” She eyed Bastian’s spotless collared shirt, vest, and jacket, wondering just what it would be like to unravel the stoic ringleader.
Without another word, she turned her attention to the healer, who studied his bowl as though performing surgery. “How’s Marzanna?”
Looking up, Barbosa goggled, cheeks flushed. It was then she realized one of his hands was still beneath the table.
She rolled her eyes. “I hope you wash those hands before you return to work.”
Stuttering, he blathered as he attempted to form sentences. Though she suspected the blood hadn’t yet returned to his brain. “Ms. Southerland was asleep when I checked on her this morning,” he managed after several failed attempts to reply.
Before she could inquire further, the room quieted. The sound of chatter morphed into a thunderous silence. The Mistress and her show management team stood at the front of the dining hall. The masked watchmen followed them, standing guard around the perimeter of the large room.
Half the tables were empty of the performers that filled them only a few short weeks ago. The mess hall had once been barely able to accommodate all of the performers. Now, countless cyborgs were gone, leaving shadows and memories of violence.
Images of carnage and severed limbs sprouted in Gwen’s mind. She could see with vivid clarity when she’d sawed a shoulder the night before, scarlet spurting onto the floor. One man had ripped through his restraints in his desperation to keep the cyborg elbow that connected his human hand with the flesh of his upper arm. The watchmen had bloodied him before restraining him. Another performer, a woman, had reached for her, desperately begging for mercy before she’d pissed herself.
Something touched Gwen’s shoulder, and she flinched away. When the touch came again, she opened her eyes, not recalling having closed them in the first place. She sat at her table, shaking, having completely missed what the Mistress had said… Something about the next competition?
Beside her, Bastian looked at her with worry in his eyes, his hand on her shoulder.
Sweat beaded on her brow. Her hands trembled, and she held them together in her lap, unable to make them stop.
I killed them. It’s my fault they’re dead or worse. I should have done something. I should have stood up to the Mistress. I should have kept her from turning me into a monster. I should have—
Bastian slid into the seat beside her. His hand found hers, holding tight.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed for the moment of panic to pass.
As Bastian leaned toward her, her hair caught on the start of his beard. “Take deep breaths. In for four seconds, out for two.”
She did as instructed, breathing deeply before exhaling, counting the entire time in her mind.
A warm burst of peppermint air tickled her cheeks in time with her own breathing. When she opened her eyes several moments later, Bastian still had a hold of her hand.
“Better?” he whispered.
No, Gwen wanted to say.
Fear, panic, and regret tightened her chest, squeezing until she felt she couldn’t breathe.
“Keep breathing,” he urged.
She felt like she had been wrung out and left to dry. Her body screamed to move, to take action, as a deep restlessness settled on her chest—tightening, squeezing. Meanwhile, her emotions felt raw and distant, as though they were someone else’s. Yet any time she thought of the competition, a crippling anxiety descended over her, and the feelings once again bombarded her like a meteor shower in space.
Nodding, she took a breath before exhaling slowly. As she did, the Mistress’s words slowly registered.
“It’s my pleasure to inform you that you’ll be performing on Jinx for the final competition.”
Had she heard that right? The moon known as the home of pirates, runaways, and the lawless type? That was where the circus would be performing?
What was the Mistress thinking? Their ships would be robbed within moments of docking, if not shot down before and sold for scrap. And why would this be a proper test of skill for the emperor?
“As performers, you must be able to win the hearts of the people,” the Mistress continued. “Unlike our previous competitions, there will be no lottery. The people will decide your fate. After our final twenty-three acts have performed, the people will vote for which ten they like the best. Those acts will go on to attend His Imperial Highness, and the rest will remain behind on Jinx as humans.”
Gwen’s heart raced at the implication behind those words.
Remain behind as humans.
She still had a job to do. One job left in this barbaric competition. Could she remove cyborg implants from thirteen more acts? She wasn’t sure she had it in her. But dare she defy the Mistress? She already had two strikes against her.
More than the threat to Gwen’s cyborg eye or physical well-being was the threat to Rora. Bastian had known about their nights together. Could the show management team know as well? Would they punish Rora or her friends for Gwen’s noncompliance? Would the Mistress dirty her hands and butcher the losing performers for their parts?
On a Union planet—besides Grandstand—the feds would arrest them as murderers. Even Grandstand, the dumping ground for cyborgs and other undesirables, had limited fed supervision—hence this ludicrous competition going uncontested. But on a moon of pirates and lawbreakers? The Mistress could simply say the cyborg implant retraction had gone sour for the final acts and dump the bodies in an alley. No feds would object. They’d be several planets away within Union territory.
“The next few days are yours to do with as you see fit,” the Mistress continued. “Our ship departs in five days at dawn, and the journey will take more than a week by solar waves. Prepare yourselves for the competition. I expect it to be our most exciting one yet.”
The watchmen moved to either side of the exit as the Mistress and the show management team strode from the silent room. Long after their guard departed, additional watchmen stood at every exit.
They are keeping us from running away.
Standing, Gwen carried her tray over to the rotating platform for cleaning, behind which was the dishwashing room. Other performers and circus staff did the same. It would seem most everyone had lost their appetite after the inspiring speech.
Bastian appeared beside her, putting his tray full of food on an empty rotating platform before it disappeared into the room beyond the wall.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “Walk with me? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
Despite Bastian’s aid during her moment of panic, he was all stoic ringleader once more. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he nodded, eyes full of skeptical disinterest.
He doesn’t want to get in trouble again, she realized. More than likely, he was no longer interested in their strange partnership to save the performers. Some part of her suspected an awful truth. Once again, he prioritized the Mistress and show management team position above all else.
If so, she’d lost one of her greatest allies.
As they walked out of the dining room, down the halls, and into the theater, they passed countless watchmen, none of whom acknowledged the presence of any cyborg. It was as though they’d become mindless statues, somehow worse than before.
When they entered the theater, several of the performers followed them inside, moving to their respective locations—the trampolines, rings, boxes, ramps with bicycles.
Gwen strode into her office with Bastian at her heels. Someone had cleaned up the blood and gore from the night before because it was immaculate.
Bastian nodded to the two watchmen standing guard at the door. After he entered, Gwen rolled the door shut behind him. There was no point in asking for privacy with the Mistress’s orders to trail her.
“I… I can’t do it again,” she blurted. “I can’t hurt any more people.”
For a moment, he studied her. “What if it’s Rora? What if she loses, and either you could remove her hand properly, or she could die from blood loss?”
“Don’t you dare—”
“As the tinkerer, you have a job to perform at this circus.”
The words were so cold, she flinched. It was as though, in a single day, any warmth that had developed between them—frail as it was—had disappeared entirely.
For a moment, she wondered if she could run away with Rora and her friends. But they wouldn’t get far. With the number of guards she’d seen on her walk through the halls to the theater, there was no way they could make it past without being seen, especially while carrying Marzanna. They would all be killed and harvested before reaching the docks.
The Mistress had prepared for this and was already one step ahead.
But Gwen wasn’t about to give up. After what happened with Marzanna, she was more determined than ever to do something.
“I have an idea,” Gwen said. “For the third competition. And I’ll need your help.”
“We fought a dragon,” he hissed, his stoic expression fading momentarily. “Isn’t that enough for you?”
“No,” she bit back. “Not with everyone’s lives in this circus at stake. The performers you recruited.”
“I’m well aware that I recruited them, Ms. Grimm.”
“Good. Then how do we save them?”
“There is no ‘we,’” he said, speaking the words she feared. “Did you learn nothing of the Mistress’s ire yesterday? If you cross her again, things will end poorly for you. And I won’t be there to save you this time.”
“Where’s the bastard who rode a dragon into the fucking sunset? That guy had balls. He was willing to take a risk to do the right thing. And you still can. Come to my room tonight. Just hear what I have to say. I have a plan that could save our friends.”
A plan that I came up with just this second.
There would be time to perfect it.
Bastian opened his mouth to speak when a knock sounded at the door.
Sighing, she said, “Enter.”
The door slid aside, revealing a performer with a busted implant.
Bastian turned on his heel. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Think on it,” she called as he left the room.
Something inside her twisted, but she pushed thoughts of Bastian aside.
After tinkering with implants for several hours, Gwen eventually excused herself and went out into the theater. If her plan was going to work, backup would be handy.
As she neared Rora’s slackline, she was thankful to find Akio and Rora together, the two speaking animatedly.
Slowing, Gwen cleared her throat.
Rora and Akio turned to her. Something strange crossed Rora’s features, but it disappeared in an instant.
“How are you feeling?” Gwen asked, glancing at Rora’s hand.
“Doing great,” Rora said with a stiff smile. “Thank you.”
Ignoring the sinking of her heart, Gwen turned to Akio. “I was actually hoping I’d catch you. I… Well, I wanted to apologize for my part in what happened with Marzanna.”
Akio ran a hand over the back of his neck before saying, “Thanks for saying that. For the record, I don’t blame you for what happened. It was an accident.”
“She’ll come around,” Rora said. “I know she will.”
Gwen’s throat tightened as she swallowed back the waterworks threatening to make an appearance. “What happened to Marzanna is my fault. I replaced the wiring incorrectly. That’s why her foot malfunctioned and she hasn’t woken up.”
“No,” Rora said, her voice rising. “If anyone is to blame, it’s the Mistress. She’s the reason for these competitions happening.”
Releasing a series of hacking coughs, Gwen jerked her human eye toward where the watchmen stood guard around the theater—hoping Rora and Akio understood.
Gwen waved a hand to the performers glancing sideways at her.
“Allergies,” she lied. Lowering her voice, she turned back to Rora and Akio. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m done being a pawn in this competition.”
Rora cocked her head to the side. “What do you have in mind?”
“Meet me tonight in my room, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
For a moment, Gwen thought Rora would say no, that an excuse for why she couldn’t come tonight would fall from her lips. Instead, she nodded. The gesture was hesitant, her brows drawing ever so slightly. But she said yes, as did Akio.
No one knew what awaited them in the emperor’s court. But what other option did they have other than to press forward? Either they would die in this competition, or they could hope there wasn’t anything worse than remaining as part of Cirque du Borge.
Just like that, it was settled.