“Next!” called a Paraburnese woman with long pink hair tied in a high ponytail wearing a white stretchlinen blouse under a tight-fitting edgehide leather vest that was practically a corset. She had on a matching, pleated leather skirt that went down to her low steel ankles and carried a mechanical clipboard, otherwise known as a Brassfolio.
All of House Sixsmith’s evaluators had them.
Thode strode into the indoor firing range and stopped at his designated mark on the floor. Down range, there were other marks at five paces, 10, 15 and 20 with a target that had three distinct lights on it located at each interval.
“Name?” the evaluator asked.
“Thode Stoolbottom.”
“Classification?”
“Uh…technically a Gearace at the moment, but I could upgrade to Gearmeister with some Bituminite Coal…”
The woman snorted, but said nothing as her fingers typed on her Brassfolio. “Use the standard-grade pistol provided and shoot the indicated lights on the different targets as quickly and precisely as you can manage. The test begins on my mark.”
Thode grabbed a pistol out of one of the holsters hanging beside his head within the narrow confines of his assigned firing range. He deftly twirled it on his finger, subconsciously getting a sense for the weapon’s weight and grip.
He’d held hundreds of guns in all shapes and sizes over the years. Each one had a ‘feel’ to them. Maybe the knurling on a pistol’s grip was weathered. Or the gun was made of some scrap dark iron, making it heavier than it needed to be. Or maybe the barrel was a little too long or too short.
Whatever the case was, each gun needed to be handled just a wee bit differently to match their quirks like pairing the right outfit for the occasion. It wasn’t anything Thode could really explain. After so many years handling guns, his hands just knew what to do when he held a new one.
“Ready?” the woman asked in an almost bored tone.
Thode gave a firm nod.
“Begin!”
At the 10 pace mark, the light on the target’s stomach suddenly lit up and Thode’s Beholder’s Audioscopes reacted instantaneously. In less than a clock tick, a red targeting reticle that only he could see locked on. Without having to think, his arm blurred, stopping at the perfect height to level his gun. Then…Blam!
Bullseye.
A new light lit up on the head of the target at five paces and Thode’s arm twitched. Blam! Dead-on.
Twenty paces, the heart. Another bullseye.
Then, the switching lights started picking up speed. Five paces, 15, 10, 20, back to 15. Each shot right on the mark. Faster and faster the lights switched on and Thode’s weapon unerringly blurred, shooting them down like tyke’s play.
His arm grew numb from the recoil as he let loose dozens of accurate shots. He didn’t know how long this test was going to last, but even he was surprised at how well he was doing. His Beholder’s Audioscopes were practically in control of his body, twisting just slightly at the hips and pivoting his feet as needed to get the best shot.
Thode had never really practiced on an actual firing range. When Zeb was first teaching him how to shoot pistols, rifles and shotguns, the rustbucket had done it in their old family junkyard. Besides, Zeb was never one for stationary targets. The old man was a firm believer in learning on your feet.
‘Sure, you can shoot a rusted plate at 30 paces, but can you shoot a jumping spider-drone before it scratches your eyes out?’ Zeb used to say.
Compared to those words of inspiration, shooting at stationary targets was a breeze. Thode’s impeccable hand-eye coordination let him aim and fire like a well-oiled machine.
And then, the game changed.
His sensitive hearing picked up a soft snort from behind him — the evaluator passing her judgment. Before he could say anything, two lights on two different targets lit up simultaneously and Thode’s reticles stuttered for half a breath.
He clicked his tongue as he quickly stepped to the side to get a better angle, then lined up his shot until the pair of reticles overlapped each other. In that window, he fired, trusting in his Gear eyes’ perception.
There was a brief pause as he heard the woman fiddling with her Brassfolio, then the targets lit back up. Now, the pattern had changed.
A string of normal shots came next — at 20 paces, 10, 5, and 15 — followed immediately by a double shot that required him to side step once more to get the right angle. After that, the targets’ lights continued to alternate between singles and doubles, forcing Thode to make snap decisions from one shot to the next.
The world narrowed to just him and the targets. Single shots, doubles, it didn’t matter. He shifted and fired his weapon again and again as easily as breathing.
Once more, he lost himself to the rhythm, the recoil from every shot a comfort in his hand. He’d grown accustomed to the numbness by now and simply ignored it.
Just as he completed a complicated series of targets, the blasted woman changed the game again.
His audioscopes spluttered for a clock tick as two targets lit up without any conceivable way of lining up the shots. In that instant of uncertainty, Thode’s perception slowed to a crawl, unbidden, as his audioscopes worked overtime for a solution. Then, on impulse, his other hand reached up for another gun in its holster.
All of a sudden, his perception snapped back to real-time as he pointed his twin pistols at both targets. Blam! Blam! Double bullseye.
This time the woman was quite irritated as she let out an exaggerated tsk, before more of the targets lit back up. The pattern shifted once again, now alternating between singles and doubles — both straight line and split-up.
Both of his arms blurred with clockwork timing, shooting down targets left and right as his Gear eyes compensated for his impromptu dual-wielding. That was another change since his integration of his original dark cobalt eye and ear, Thode had gotten much better at shooting with both hands. And now that he had a complete set of new eyes, he’d become seamlessly ambidextrous.
His pistols beat a steady staccato of Fluxfire as his every shot hit its mark with barely any wasted movements. However, he wasn’t allowed to lose himself in a rhythm this time because the evaluator abruptly cried out, “Pass!”
And just like that, the game was over.
The targets deactivated and Thode’s awareness of the world beyond the shooting range filtered back in. He hadn’t even realized he was sweating, until he re-holstered his borrowed pistols and needed to wipe his brow.
“Whew, I kinda lost myself on that last bit,” he said when he turned to face the slightly red-faced evaluator. “So, how’d I do?”
Instead of answering, the woman just shoved a square chip made of low copper at him, then said, “Here. Take this to the next area. Congratulations, you’ve made it to the second round.”
Thode looked at her questioningly as he took the chip, but before he could ask her anything, she was already walking away.
“What’s got her pipes in a knot?” he asked in an almost offended tone.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Zeb buzzed in his jacket pocket and replied sarcastically, “Who knows, boyo? Maybe she’s got a crush on you…”
Thode just swatted the old man.
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Azuba Spooner tugged on her pink ponytail as she watched the potential delver, Thode Stoolbottom, dodging a pair of sandbags. The applicant was in a simulated Gearmonger forge room with a one way mirror for the evaluators to look through. Strewn about the room were the same obstacles common to Gearmonger facilities — large crates with scrap metal, workbenches for ant-drones to use and a large furnace right in the center of the room.
This part of the test was to gauge an applicant’s agility and evasive skills. Anyone that House Sixsmith was going to hire needed to be able to survive the rigors of these particular Gearmonger ruins. Not because the House was concerned about their lives, but because to salvage the gun batteries that the contract asked for required delvers to be able to defend themselves while the large artillery weapons were neutralized for collection.
Inside the confined obstacle course, electrical flames vented out of the lad’s brassteel alloyed Gear legs to shoot him between another pair of non-lethal projectiles. Then, he slid behind a large box to avoid another couple of sandbags, before he dashed away again and zigzagged between more projectiles.
A fellow evaluator for House Sixsmith, Zamiras Tremaine, stood beside Azuba behind the one way mirror, scrutinizing the delver’s every move. Zamiras was a thin Cinderran with delicate features and a single, powerful Gear that had replaced both of his arms. Arm Gears usually came individually, forcing Tinkers to assimilate them separately, but Zamiras had the Hanged Gods’ own luck for finding a set of them.
“The lad’s spry. Got a nice combination of Gears and he’s obviously got a high integration level,” Zamiras remarked. Azuba just tugged her ponytail again, “You shoulda seen him shoot, Zam. The lad’s got one of the best scores I’ve ever seen. Even after I glitched the program a wee bit, he still shot like a machine. Only ever seen that from Onno and Prunella. For frag’s sake, he even beat Gid’s high score.”
Zamiras whistled at her claims, “Wish I was there to see it, Az. Must mean those Gear eyes of his are better than I thought. Explains why he’s movin’ so blasted good too.”
“Ya, but…do you really want a Crumbler to be on one of the teams?” she asked hesitantly. “I did a background check on him, Zam. He was sponsored to the Copper Crosses by Reina Gunnslow, the only surviving heiress to House Gunnslow of Arcwatch. There are no records of him being a part of any of the delver unions from that heaping slag pile of a city either, which could only mean that the lad was from the Crumbles. I bet he salvaged those Gears from some dead High Tinker like the slum rat that he is. I mean…Can you really trust someone like that?”
With an offhanded shrug, Zamiras moved some controls around on his personal Brassfolio and suddenly, instead of two simultaneous sandbags flying at the applicant, there were four. “There, Az. Let’s see what the Crumbler can do then.”
As soon as the lad detected the increased number of projectiles, he narrowed his eyes and a pair of thrusters sprang out of his ankles. In the next clock tick, fiery electricity blasted out, shooting the lad around the room as if he were gliding on air.
“Ooooh, that’s dynamo stuff right there,” Zamiras said appreciatively. “The lad’s got some sliders on his feet. Makes him as slippery as an eel, that one.”
“Aye, real ‘dynamo,” Azuba scoffed. “No wonder the Crumbler was able to escape Arcwatch’s fall — he’s just a rat that’s grand at running.”
“Leave off it, Az. That’s precisely what we’re hirin’. We want folks who’ve got nine lives,” offered Zamiras. “We need people who can flee as easily as they can fight and vice versa. And if you’re not convinced just yet, then here…”
With another flick of his brassteel fingers, the obstacle course suddenly began to spit out six sandbags at a time from the hidden rotary guns within the room. Azuba sniffed disdainfully as she watched the applicant deftly respond by picking up his speed and actually skating along the room’s walls.
“Oh for frag’s sake, they’re electromagnetic?!” she cried out, annoyed to see the lad zip around the forge room so easily to avoid all six sandbags. He wasn’t even slowing down either. Thode was actually gaining more speed as he stayed two steps ahead of the projectiles.
Azuba threw her hands up in defeat. “Fine! Just pass the blasted copperhead!”
Zamiras smiled and tapped something on his mechanized tablet. The sandbags switched off in an instant and he spoke into the intercom, “You passed, lad. Collect your new chip and head on over to the last screening test.”
Thode shuffled out of the room, grabbing a dark copper chip from a dispenser by the door, while Zamiras gave Azuba a smug smile, “Y’know, Az. I’m thinkin’ the lad’s gonna be on your team.”
With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Azuba sniffed and stormed out of the room.
Just one more assessment to go.
----------------------------------------
Thode flicked his thumb and flipped his new chip in the air, then snatched it a second later only to do the exact same thing again. He was growing bored as he stood in line waiting for his turn to take the final screening test.
Thus far, House Sixsmith’s assessments had been a welcome distraction to his failed attempts at tracking down Reina. By the Hanged Gods, he’d even gained a few percentage points on his integration level for both his Hydropneumatic Cardioverter and his Beholder’s Audioscopes. Who knew that harmless training methods could actually do that?
When he asked Zeb about it, the old man just scoffed and said, ‘Don’t let these gilded lilies dupe you, boyo. That kinda training is what gets Tinkers killed in the trenches. I didn’t raise you to be a pile of slag, I raised you to shine brighter than the rest of ‘em.’
Thode flipped his chip in the air again as his gyroscopic companion remained quiet in his jacket pocket. The room he was in had about 40 people left in it, High Tinkers the whole lot of them, and all waiting for their turn.
Fortunately, the line was moving at a steady clip. According to his calculations, each assessment only lasted a minute or less. Anyone who took the full minute usually walked out of the room with hunched shoulders and avoided everyone’s inquiring looks. Meanwhile, the ones who finished in less than a minute, usually walked out with a pep in their step and a dull, low iron chip.
Must mean the assessment is timed, he thought lazily as he snatched his own chip out of the air again. Wonder what it is…
He didn’t really care all that much. None of these assessments had been that difficult thus far, so he wasn’t expecting the last one to be a real stumper. At that moment, the sliding dark steel door at the front of the room opened up and yet another Tinker — this one a Noxdennite — walked out while shaking their feathered head.
Poor fragger…Thode thought, but then a voice came on the intercom. “Number 48!” it called and Thode caught his chip again. “That’s me!” he cried out, then started to shove his way past the other applicants crowding the waiting room.
A round of grumbles and mutters followed in his wake as he made his way to the front. Once there, he found the sliding metal door had a coin slot made specifically for his chip. He promptly dropped it in and immediately heard the clicking of moving cogs just before the door slid open.
Quickly stepping into the room, he found himself in a small closet about two paces by two paces around and maybe twice that in height. Above eye level there was a clock that must have been the timer and just beneath that was a metallic puzzle built directly into the wall.
There were easily a hundred sliding bars arranged in a haphazard configuration. “A timed puzzle? Really?” Thode asked in a flippant tone. “I fraggin’ hate puzzles.”
His gyroscopic companion quickly floated out of his jacket, though Thode tried to stop it. “Ho-oh! Now this is my kind of assessment. Tests the noggin’ more than the brawn.”
“What are you doin’, old man? You wanna get us caught?” Thode hissed.
“Relax, boyo. I already scanned the room. Ain’t no one way mirrors anywhere. No cameras either. It’s just us and the puzzle,” Zeb replied nonchalantly.
A clock tick later, the timer began to countdown and the rustbucket just zipped over to the sliding bars. “Don’t you lift a finger, lad. I’ve got this one. Just take out my ride, will ya?”
Thode obliged and unlimbered the old man’s ant-drone exoskeleton. His companion swiftly docked and then sprang up onto the wall, its metallic claws easily clambering along the puzzle’s sliding bars.
Without further ado, Zeb got to work, using its claws to quickly move the pieces around like the rustbucket had long since solved the puzzle.
Left, right, up and down. Back again, then left and up. The puzzle pieces slid seamlessly in the recessed wall as Zeb rearranged them in a blur of mechanical efficiency. Sometimes the old man had to maneuver half a dozen pieces out of the way just to free a single piece that needed to be set in its rightful place first. Then, Zeb would shuffle them all back to where it left off.
It was dizzying to watch, even to Thode’s enhanced eyesight.
The seconds ticked by on the timer, steadily winding down as Zeb continued to move with clockwork precision. By the 20 second mark, Thode could start to make out a general pattern hidden amidst the puzzle pieces. Twelve seconds later, he caught sight of a partial image. Another handful of clock ticks after that, Thode realized what Zeb was deciphering.
The puzzle ended up being a mural that depicted the House Sixsmith family crest — a six-pointed star with hammerheads at its tips.
Zeb completed the challenge at the 45 second mark and a congratulatory chime rang in the small room, followed by the center of his puzzle revealing a low steel chip for Thode to take.
Once the new chip was in his hand, he quickly collected Zeb and the ant-drone exoskeleton, stuffing both of them into his jacket pocket just in time for the exit to slide open.
He stepped through, eyes bright and meeting the suspicious looks of the waiting room still packed with potential applicants.
Thode ignored them as he casually flipped his chip into the air and made his way out of the room. Once he was out in the hallway, an attendant was waiting for him.
Tall and well dressed with slicked back yellow hair and a sharp doubletwill blazer, the Paraburnese man bowed and said, “Follow me to the briefing room, sir.”
Thode nodded his head in reply. “Lead the way.”