MacWillie and Huckens are trying to recenter themselves, though I feel their reactions spring from different sources. MacWillie is still muttering under her breath, occasionally striking the side of her head softly, whereas Huckens seems to be preoccupied with trying not to die from the agony consuming his groin that he can't reach to soothe. His leather restraints rattle against the sides of the table, saliva frothing along his mouth, but Blanket Breeder secured the straps well.

"That's the most violent reaction I've ever seen," Blanket whispers to me as we wait for Huckens to stop twitching. "Are you sure he's human?"

"MacWillie says they are," I admit reluctantly, trying to ignore the gibbering woman seated in the chair too small for her. It's like she and Huckens have never participated in a future tree scrying. Once again I'm confronted with their ignorance. It's an unofficial competition amongst the young men of the village to see who reacts the least to the test, but even the most sensitive didn't explode with the raw primalness of Huckens. "Maybe he's just never been hit in the groin before."

"That seems weird."

"It does, but they're outsiders, so who knows what strange practices they follow."

"Young Sky," MacWillie croaks, drawing my attention and interrupting our chat. She stares at me with haunted eyes, unable to finish her sentence.

"Are you feeling better, MacWillie? It was the needles, wasn't it." I scooch over to comfort her. "There are a couple people in the village who just can't stand the sight of a needle entering their arm. They pass out almost instantly. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"It's... no, Sky, it's not the needles." MacWillie's voice is hoarse. "It's the strangeness of it all, and I say that as someone who's spent their life amongst the engines. Just when I think everything is a different version of normal, it all floats loose again. Why did you have to mallet the lad straight in the butterchurners?"

I shrug.

"Don't know. That's how future tree testing goes. Blanket can probably explain."

Blanket takes a seat on the other side of MacWillie, that intense focus settling over her features once more.

"We need to know the epigenetic response in reproductive material during situations of extreme stress and pain to determine optimal matches for future generations, as well as a rough phlogiston value. The most ethical way of recreating that in young males without exposing them to actual danger is an unguarded mallet to the testicles."

"...phlogiston value?" MacWillie asks weakly. Window Doctor finishes his writing and marches over to stand in front of her, hands on his hips.

"Yes. Phlogiston value and balance of humors are vital to the health of your future tree, and you, young lady," he wags a finger at her, "are severely lacking in both! I am prescribing an immediate course of bloodroot supplements." He thrusts a small paper pouch at MacWillie, who accepts it mechanically. "One pill with each meal for the next ten days, and then I'll want to see you again."

"...okay?"

"Very good." Window Doctor rubs his hands together, then looks over at Huckens' now limp form sprawled across the restraining table. "Why is the other patient not in the examination chair?"

"Help me out, Sky," Blanket hisses, a rare expression of panic flashing across her face. The next few seconds see us scrambling to loosen the leather straps so we can drag Huckens over to the adjustable chair beneath Window's disapproving gaze. We pour Huckens into the welcoming leather and step back, letting the Doctor begin his general physical tests. Behind us, MacWillie clears her throat nervously, eyeing the empty restraining table.

"Are you... planning on smacking me in the babymaker as well?"

Blanket giggles.

"Only if you want us to. Window Doctor and I got everything we needed from you already."

MacWillie looks at where Huckens is trying to curl into a ball on the examination chair, hampered by his arm trapped in the metal monitoring cuff, then back at us.

"...so tell me again why the lad needed to have his eggs scrambled and I'm getting off scot free?"

"Men and women handle stress differently," Blanket replies matter of factly. "That's one of the first things you learn as a Breeder. If you don't take that into account when plotting future trees, it's a real problem. You do not want to mess up the phlogiston value and balance of humors."

"...I'll take your word for it," MacWillie manages, the three of us watching Window Doctor repeat his earlier tests on the comatose Huckens. "Not that I'm complaining at avoiding a boot to the biscuit."

We sit in silence as Huckens' examination concludes, stirring only briefly when it looks like he's going to shift from his fetal position in the chair to a fetal position on the ground after Window Doctor loosens the metal band around his arm.

"...lad needs hardening," MacWillie eventually says. "He'll see worse in the engines."

"I don't know what that means," Blanket replies crisply, "but you can leave now. Window Doctor and I need to analyze the future trees in greater detail."

"And just what are you going to do with our genetics?" MacWillie makes no motion to move, her normal swagger slowly returning. Blanket cocks an eyebrow.

"Test them against the entirety of our genebank to determine optimal outcomes for the village's continued survival, and notify you about potential matches. What you do with that information is your choice."

The Chief Engineer is once again at a loss for words.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"...that's... surprisingly reasonable?"

"We have your genes and your future tree," Blanket shrugs, totally unconcerned, "so whoever you want to sleep with is up to you. It's not like you'll be making little ones. Saint Penicillin will see to that."

"You what now?!"

My head whips over to MacWillie's sudden display of anger, not understanding the provocation. Why wouldn't she not bear little ones without a clear intent towards raising them? Is this another one of her strange prejudices?

"MacWillie," I begin cautiously, "were you planning on having little ones?"

The mindless panic leaves her eyes.

"Hell no, young Sky," she snorts, swelling within the confining embrace of the chair. "Not unless the right person came along, and that lucky soul hasn't met me yet. If you all are smart enough to have contraceptives, I'll take them gladly. This talk of wee childrens has got me unbalanced."

"You're not the only unbalanced person in here," Window Doctor interrupts, pulling another paper pouch from his pocket as he steps away from the diagnostic devices. "This young man is also woefully deficient in phlogiston and humors!" He points at Huckens, who whimpers softly, then hands the packet to MacWillie. "Make sure he takes his supplements as well. I don't know what they're feeding you where you're from, but they have no idea what they're doing. Come, Blanket," he marches over to the scattered papers, "let's finish these charts so you can take them to Water."

"Right away!" Blanket jumps up from her chair, joining Window at the long table he's been using as a writing surface. As they're settling in, Window looks over his shoulder at MacWillie and Huckens.

"Also, you don't have any diseases. Come see me if you get one. Good day."

MacWillie stares at his back in bemusement, then lifts herself out of the chair.

"Can't say that's the best bedside manner I've experienced, but can't say it was the worst." She steps over to Huckens, hauling him upright. "Come on, lad, on your feet. We've ships to find." She looks at me. "There a quiet place we can sit and not be disturbed?"

"We'll go to the Memory Shrine," I declare. "Right now it's only the little ones taking lessons, so there should be plenty of empty rooms. Follow me."

Huckens groans, but manages to half-walk half-crouch his way out of the Doctories behind MacWillie and I, giving Blanket a betrayed look that she doesn't notice. I lead us across the village square to the large, flowing building that curves its way around one of the elder trees, reaching nearly to the start of the spreading canopy high overhead. Broad windows wind their way across the multiple stories, most revealing shelf after shelf packed with books and scrolls, others looking in on tables and chairs. I carefully open the front door - the little ones should be just starting their afternoon lesson and I don't want to disrupt them.

Sure enough, as I gently swing the door outward, I can hear a voice from the big main room, its entry frame a few steps away.

"...and who is the third saint?"

Great Grandpa Axe's voice bounces up and down in his familiar teaching cadence, and I motion MacWillie and Huckens to join me. A chorus of voices answers.

"Saint Gunpowder!"

"Would you like to hear the tale of Saint Gunpowder?"

"Yes!"

We sidle silently into the back of the room, the orderly rows of little ones focused raptly on Great Grandpa's blanketed chair. He nods slightly to me but doesn't stop talking - we'll have to wait for him to finish the lesson so we can pass through to the staircase leading up on the other side of the room without disrupting the little ones too much.

"During the Beginning, when Book Idiot led us back out into the world, our third and final Saint arose. Saint Gunpowder, filled with grief at the loss of his true love, Saint Penicillin, committed his heart to the protection of us all, so that no more Saints would be needed. The trees accepted his sacrifice, and the third Shrine grew from his devotion."

There are a few sniffles at the mention of Saint Gunpowder and Saint Penicillin's tragic love, like usual. I remember doing the same when I first heard the story as a little one. Great Grandpa gives them time to clear up, then continues.

"With his hands, what does he bring forth?"

I mouth the answer along with the group.

"The dust of destruction."

"With our hands, how do we accept?"

"In caution and calm, and never with flame."

"And how is it used?"

"To defend or demolish, but never in rage."

Great Grandpa beams at them. "Very good. Now, we have some guests who I will briefly allow you to greet-"

The little ones turn and spot us, and the room devolves into gleeful chaos, the rest of Great Grandpa's instructions lost in the din.

"It's Sky!"

"And the outsiders!"

"Sky! Sky! Look at this pebble I found!"

"Why are you so big, miss?"

"Oooh, look at her scars!"

"Why is he standing funny? Is your groin okay, mister?"

"Are you going to teach us anymore, Sky? My papa said you're an Idiot now."

"I have to potty."

I laugh at the clamoring little ones, shooing them gently back into their seats and telling Bottle to go to the bathroom before he wets himself.

"I have to find MacWillie and Huckens a quiet place to study, but I'll be back to help you with your lessons as soon as I can," I assure them, then look over at Great Grandpa. "That is, if your Memoriam approves?"

"Of course you can help," he says fondly, his eyes sharpening, "but only if these little troublemakers are able to stay focused on their learning!"

A susurrus of shushes sweeps the room, and I mouth 'sorry' at Great Grandpa where the children can't see. He just waves me onward, and I make my way to the staircase, MacWillie and Huckens in tow.

"Now then, who can tell me the first step in mixing a proper high-yield..."

Great Grandpa's voice fades away as we ascend the staircase, climbing to the third floor. It has the best view, and usually doesn't see many visitors because it's filled with technical books. Occasionally a Crafter or Builder will want to double-check something, but for the most part it's as secluded as one can find in a public space.

"Charming little school," MacWillie says quietly as we enter the long room. "Reminds me of when I was a wee babe."

Huckens doesn't add anything, still somewhat hunched over. I make my way through the twisting rows of shelves automatically, heading for my favorite reading nook.

"Great Grandpa knows what he's doing. I like working with the little ones. Even if they can be a bit of a handful at times."

We reach our destination, a small table flanked by two wide chairs, cushioning so soft it feels like you could sink into them forever. They're angled slightly towards a tall, curving window which looks down on the village square.

"Does this work?"

MacWillie sinks into one of the chairs with a grateful sigh, Huckens copying her a moment later, a scowl still on his face.

"Certainly beats a too-small meeting room filled with too-dumb officers. Aye, this'll do nicely for the lad and I, thank you young Sky."

"Good. I'm going to go help Great Grandpa. I'll come back and get you for dinner?"

"That sounds like a plan. Snap out of your sulk, young master Huckens" MacWillie suddenly barks, startling me, but it brings Huckens to attention. "We need to find us those ships." Her eyes go unfocused, as do his, and the room falls silent. I wait for them to start talking again before I leave, but they just stay in that detached state.

They're speaking in the infonet, Sky.

"Oh." My cheeks heat up. "Right. Of course they are. Uhm, okay then."

I turn and make my way back to the stairs, feeling a bit like a little one myself. I need to learn how to use that infonet.

If you can focus on two things at once, I will begin instructing you while you instruct the children.

"Thanks, Box."