Broken People (Serial)

Nine

The screech of metal being cut came out through the open door, along with dark clouds of smoke as Nicholas walked up the steps. Bent over a long workbench, Rake and Spinner molded a delicate piece of machinery. Their "factory", a hybrid between a laboratory and a hardware store, smelled of coagulants.

The fans worked overtime and still couldn't keep up with the smoke coming out of Rocket Girl's robo-suit. She paced behind the knife throwers, the helmet preventing her from suffocating. With her face covered, she looked rather scary, hidden inside the two-ton walking bot that towered over everyone else in the car.

"Take a mask." Spinner gestured at a shelf near the entrance. "Fei Lin busted a few wires while practicing her jumps."

Nicholas pressed a square filter tissue over his nose and mouth. Fei Lin's determination to improve her already outstanding act and earn her keep often ended up with some kind of malfunction—solid proof of why the robot had been abandoned. Despite Rake's and Spinner's efforts, they managed to only partially salvage it each time.

"How did it go?" Rake asked.

"It went as well as expected." Nicholas's voice came out muffled through the mask. The knife throwers didn't wear any, but he preferred not to risk his health. "The mayor was so impressed with his thirty percent, he forgot to ask for an advanced fee for booking the theater, so we don't owe anything to Aurore." The five percent he failed to mention would go straight into his pockets as compensation for his trouble.

"Good, good." Spinner nodded and set aside the piece he was working on. Fei Lin stopped behind him and peered over his shoulder.

"The downside is," Nicholas said, careful not to get in her way, "they'll send tons of agents to snoop around the place, and there's no way to keep them out."

"We have nothing to hide," Spinner said, wiping his forehead with a dirty cloth, and picked up another metal part.

Yeah, right. They made a point of hiding them in plain sight, but there were still secrets.

"If they have agents to spare, we can use them to tighten our security," Rake said, though it was hard to tell if he was serious. "I'll make some new masks for them."

If they agreed to wear them ... but the masks also stood for tickets and were mandatory to access the circus grounds. After their yearly visits, the locals knew they couldn't enter without them.

"Anything else?" Spinner asked.

"The building is old," Nicholas said, "and while it's maintained and in good shape, it won't easily accommodate our acts. Our stage workers will have to work non-stop to have everything ready in time."

"They will." Rake didn't need to say more. They could count on the auxiliary personnel to do their work.

Rocket Girl—Nicholas had trouble thinking of her and using her full name when he couldn't see her inside that mountain of metal—stopped on the other side of the table with her hands on her hips and watched them, obviously unhappy with the interruption.

"What's the prognosis for the client?" Nicholas asked. "I saw him outside, and he didn't look well."

"He's not," Spinner said. "Whoever he pissed off did a good number on him."

"Any chance you can fix him?"

Both Rake and Spinner stared at him. Anyone else would have winced under those glares.

Nicholas held up his free hand. "Don't look at me like that. I'm the one who negotiated with Armstrong. That man is a gunner. If we don't deliver, he'll come after all of us, guns blazing. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not get shot. Tailcoats are expensive, you know."

Spinner adjusted the dials on a plasma cutter. "It's true that he'll be pissed if we fail. But the arms are busted. It was done by someone who knew what he was doing. The damage was tailored to affect the use of his hands ... and cause as much pain as possible."

"So it can't be done?" Nicholas asked.

"Don't underestimate us—"

"Spinner." Rake gave the smaller knife thrower a pointed look.

"Okay ...," Spinner said, aggravated. "We can control the pain, and we can restore the muscles ... to a fashion. It's the nerves of which we're not sure. All of the paths we've tested are shot. If we need to re-grow everything from the shoulders down, we'll need a whole month for the client to regain the use of his hands, longer for proper fine motor skills. Obviously, that won't do. If we can find some paths still working, we might be onto something, but even then, we need to make sure the re-grow speed is fast enough to meet our deadline. We need at least a day to figure that out."

Robot Girl tapped Skinner on the shoulder and pointed at the digital clock on the wall. She spoke little English besides the gibberish they had identified as a Mongoloid dialect, and she didn't speak at all while wearing the robo-suit.

"Yes, we need more time." Spinner nodded with a smile.

She shook her head and probably rolled her eyes inside the helmet. She hadn't meant time for the patient, but for herself.

"You should also tell him we've never done anything like this before," Rake said. "And we can't count on Big Dino's guidance, either."

"There's also that." Spinner let his shoulders drop.

Nicholas took a long look at the arm and hand molds hanging all over the wall.

"So, we'll know tomorrow if we're doomed to fail Miss Aurore's expectations," he said. If they failed Aurore, Big Dino would be disappointed, too ... when he regained consciousness. "Good to know."