Time: One Week Later.
The back room of Vane & Rivet was usually reserved for dangerous experiments or high-stakes poker games with the Warlords. Today, it was dark, illuminated only by a single spotlight focused on a workbench.
"Okay," Rivet said, vibrating with excitement. "Keep your eyes closed. No peeking. If you use your X-ray gravity sense, I'm quitting."
"I don't have X-ray gravity sense," Julian said, standing in the dark with his eyes shut. "And you can't quit. You own 49% of the company."
"I'm renegotiating for 51% after you see this," Rivet's voice moved around the room. "Okay. Open."
Julian opened his eyes.
On the workbench sat a gauntlet.
It wasn't a replacement arm. It was an Exoskeleton. A framework of delicate copper wires, hydraulic micro-pistons, and sensor pads, designed to fit over Julian's massive black iron Anchor Arm.
"What is it?" Julian asked, stepping closer.
"I call it the Whisper-Touch," Rivet beamed, wiping grease from his forehead. "I've been watching you. You can lift a tank, but you can't hold a grape without turning it into juice. The Anchor Arm has no tactile feedback loop. It's all output, no input."
Rivet picked up the device.
"This sleeve reads the neural impulses in your shoulder—the ones you want to send to your fingers—and it applies a counter-force to the iron servos. It artificially limits your strength. It adds resistance."
"It makes me weaker?"
"It makes you gentle," Rivet corrected. "Try it on."
The Egg Test
Julian sat down. He extended his massive, matte-black arm.
Rivet slid the framework over the iron. It clicked into place, the magnets locking onto the Star-Metal.
CLICK-WHIRR.
A small green light blinked on the wrist.
"Okay," Rivet placed a raw egg on the table. "Pick it up."
Julian hesitated. He had crushed a dozen coffee mugs in the last year. He had broken door handles. He was a bull in a china shop, permanently.
"Trust the tech," Rivet said.
Julian reached out.
Usually, his arm moved with the momentum of a falling rock. But now, he felt resistance. The sleeve was fighting him, slowing his movements down, dampening the gravitational pull.
His iron fingers closed around the egg.
He felt... pressure.
Not from the egg, but from the sleeve pushing back against his fingers. It simulated the sensation of touch.
He lifted the egg.
It didn't crack.
He held it up to the light. Perfect. Whole.
Julian slowly rotated his wrist. He set the egg back down.
He looked at Rivet. The kid was grinning so hard his face looked like it might split.
"You built a feedback dampener," Julian whispered. "For a arm made of planetary core material. How?"
"I used the scraps from the Surveyor's landing pod," Rivet shrugged. "Harmonic sensors. They're sensitive to Aetheric density."
Julian looked at his hand. He wiggled his fingers. For the first time in two years, he felt nimble.
"You solved the one thing I couldn't fix," Julian said.
"Well," Rivet leaned against the table. "You taught me to listen to the machine. Your arm was screaming for a dimmer switch."
The Promotion
Julian stood up. He walked over to the wall where the shop's org chart (drawn in chalk) hung.
At the top, it said: BOSS: JULIAN.
Below that: APPRENTICE: RIVET.
Julian picked up an eraser.
He erased BOSS and APPRENTICE.
He wrote: HEADMASTER: RIVET.
"Whoa," Rivet stepped back. "What are you doing?"
"I'm promoting you," Julian said. "You're not an apprentice anymore. You just out-engineered me."
"But... you're the Conductor!"
"I'm the Warden," Julian corrected. "My job is to hold the door shut and keep the monsters in the basement. Your job..."
He pointed to the busy garage outside, where students were fixing engines and building solar arrays.
"...is to build the future."
He tossed the chalk to Rivet.
"The Academy is yours, kid. I'll still work here. I'll still lift the heavy stuff. But you run the curriculum. You teach them how to fix the things I break."
Rivet looked at the chalkboard. He looked at the shop he had squatted in two years ago as a starving orphan.
"Headmaster Rivet," he tested the sound of it. "Can I give myself a raise?"
"Don't push it," Julian smiled.
The Mission
Julian walked over to his coat and pulled out the Dog Tag he had found in the Glass Forest.
UNIT: SECTOR 4 ORPHANAGE.
NOTE: I WANT TO BE A PILOT.
"Speaking of the future," Julian showed the tag to Rivet. "I have a lead on a new recruit."
Rivet read the tag.
"Sector 4? That's the slums. The kid is probably picking pockets."
"Or looking at the sky," Julian said. "I'm going to find him. Or her."
"You want to train a pilot?"
"We have the White Raven sitting in the hangar gathering dust," Julian said. "And Arthur left the keys. It seems a shame to let it rust."
"I can prep the Raven," Rivet said, his mind already shifting to 'Headmaster' mode. "The stabilizers need tuning, and the nav-computer is glitchy. Give me two days."
"Take three," Julian said. "I have to make a stop first."
"Where?"
"The Undercity," Julian said. "I need to talk to a ghost."
The Descent
Julian took the Rusty Bucket and rode to the Sector 7 elevator.
He descended into the Undercity.
It wasn't the dark, desperate place it used to be. The glow-moss farms were thriving. The air filters (repaired by Rivet's students) were pumping clean oxygen. The markets were bustling.
He rode to the Abyss Sector.
The massive blast door to the Deep Shaft was now guarded by a permanent outpost of Titan-Sentinels—droids reprogrammed by Surv to act as gatekeepers.
"Identify," the droid scanned him.
"Anchor Prime," Julian said.
The droid stepped aside. "Welcome, Warden."
Julian walked to the edge of the shaft. He didn't go down. He just stood there, looking into the infinite dark.
He took off his new glove—the Whisper-Touch. He needed the raw connection for this.
He placed his bare black iron hand on the railing.
Silent King, Julian projected his thought downward.
A rumble vibrated up the shaft.
I HEAR YOU, LITTLE CONDUCTOR.
How is the basement?
QUIET. THE FIRE SLEEPS. THE WALLS HOLD.
Good, Julian thought. I'm taking a trip. I might be out of range for a few days.
YOU ARE NEVER OUT OF RANGE. THE GRAVITY OF THE PLANET IS EVERYWHERE. GO. FIND YOUR SKY.
Julian smiled.
Thanks, big guy.
He put the glove back on. He felt the gentle pressure of the sensors.
He turned around and walked back toward the light of the city.
The Flight School
Back at the Academy, Rivet was already shouting orders at the students.
"Alright, listen up! We're doing an overhaul on the White Raven! Team A, check the thrusters! Team B, scrub the intakes! If I see a speck of dust on that hull, you're scrubbing the latrines with a toothbrush!"
Lyra leaned against the wall, watching him. She ate a peach.
"He sounds like you," she told Julian.
"He's louder than me," Julian said. "I just glare. He actually yells."
"You found the pilot?"
"Not yet," Julian pocketed the tag. "But I will. The world needs pilots. We spent so long looking down at the mud, we forgot to look up."
Lyra checked her gun belt.
"Well, if you're going into Sector 4, you need backup. The gangs there are still jumpy."
"I have the Anchor," Julian raised his arm. "And I have the Whisper-Touch. I can pinch them very gently now."
"I'm driving," Lyra tossed him the keys to the truck. "You navigate."
Julian caught the keys. He didn't look at the map. He looked at the sky.
"North-West," Julian said. "Toward the orphanage. Let's go find a dreamer."