Thode didn’t feel it when his assailants dragged him out of Smitty’s. For Hanged Gods’ sake, he didn’t even feel the first gut punch. But he did feel the cross hook to the face. Then the knee to the solar plexus.
He involuntarily coughed up blood, sharp pain lancing through his body as it pierced the haze of his inebriation. Weakly struggling, he tried to curl up into a ball. It was the simplest movement his body would do, but a distant part of his mind finally realized that he was being held up.
“Where do you think you’re goin’, lad? We ain’t done yet. You still got a lesson to learn.”
Another hard uppercut to the gut.
“Sh-shove it up the spout…” Thode managed to splutter.
Wham! He got another sucker punch to the face.
Bloody spittle flew from his mouth and the fog in his mind thinned even further. He hurt, but thankfully, it was still blunted as if it was someone else’s body getting roughed up in some other dark alleyway in the Crumbles.
Thode grunted with every punch he took, rivers of blood running down his nose and lips, soaking into his shirt and the tops of his trousers, staining them crimson. Now, he wasn’t muddle-headed from the booze or the tobac. Instead, his head rang like a tolling bell tower.
He was sober now. Painfully sober. And every bruised muscle and loose tooth made themselves known. He lost count of how many hits he’d taken. Ten? Fifteen?
His aching body thudded to the dirty concrete pavement of the alleyway. He tried to roll over, but a boot caught him in the ribs.
“If you knew what was good for you, you’d stay out of the auction,” hissed one of the bastards that just beat the slag out of him.
The sound of their heavy boots retreated from his earshot as Thode lay in the dark, moaning in pain. Beatings were as common as handshakes in the Crumbles. He’d grown up here, he would know, though it had been years since he’d gotten one this bad. Most folks avoided scrapping with Tinkers since they tended to have superior Gear pieces.
Only Tinkers were confident in fighting other Tinkers.
A scraping noise startled him from his stupor as the small automaton from Smitty’s trundled over to him, nudging his side again and again until Thode finally scraped up enough strength to take whatever it was carrying on its tray. Heaving himself onto his side, his left eye was swollen shut and the blurry vision in his right wasn’t doing him any favors. But, in his dirt covered fingers, he held a stoppered vial containing an apothecary’s healing tonic.
The Hanged Gods bless you Smitty…he almost cried to himself. Between the liquor, tobac and brutal beating, his emotions were out of control. He didn’t blame Smitty, how could he? The old Paraburnese man couldn’t have done anything to stop those two. This tonic was more than enough as far as Thode was concerned.
With shaky fingers, he held the stoppered vial in both hands and popped the cork off, desperately gulping down the healing tonic. Immediately, the pain lessened to a sharp sting and Thode gasped for air, his first deep breath since his attackers left.
Oh this wasn’t some high-grade apothecary tonic. After all, this was still the Crumbles. What Smitty gave him was a simple pain reliever and anti-inflammatory, just to take the edge off. And it worked.
Thode sighted the nearest rusted wall and crawled over to haul himself up to a seated position. The vision in his right eye cleared up enough for him to see the pool of his own blood he’d been lying in along with the shattered pieces of his pipe.
He let out a heavy breath. Lovely…
Resting his head against the slick metal wall of whatever apartment shed he was next to, Thode took his time collecting himself. He stared off into nothing, letting his mind process the last few moments as he sluggishly scraped together the will to move.
After several long breaths, he finally scrounged up enough to tap his grimy fingers onto his wrist display to call for his ride. Zeb could easily navigate the monocycle to him through the tangled streets and staircases of the Crumbles. All he had to do was sit here and wait like an injured stray.
He sighed, That’s all I am. That’s all I’ve ever been.
Thode closed his only working eye, losing himself to the dull aches of breathing through busted lips and a whistling nose. Before long, the rumbling of metal on cobblestone accompanied by the bright fog light of his monocycle snapped him awake.
His ride stopped right in front of him and Zeb’s gyroscope whirred out of its holder, “By the Hanged Gods, lad…they kicked the ever-living slag out of you, didn’t they?” It carefully circled his body as it inspected the damage.
“You can’t be going on like this, boyo. You ain’t even been runnin’ in the big leagues for a day and you had your spout handed to you already. You need to get stronger, faster, or else they’re gonna run you over even more. And stop getting glitched all the blasted time. You’ll be needin’ your wits about you if you want to score big with Clem.”
Thode ignored the ranting automaton as he clumsily crawled over to the vehicle and heaved himself up onto the seat. “Just get us home, Zeb. I’ll worry about getting stronger tomorrow. Tonight, I need a stiff drink and somethin’ to numb me for the night…”
The crotchety rustbucket grumbled but decided to keep any more comments to itself as it zipped over to its holder and revved the engine.
“Alright, lad. Home it is.”
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“Don’t give up, lad. We come from a long line of high ranked Tinkers! Engineering and machining are in your blood! Now, go on, try it again,” his father urged.
Thode was in their garage, hunched over a smoking circuit board with his soldering pen poised to connect a new wire. His father always talked about their ‘supposed’ lineage, but as far as Thode was concerned, it was a whole lot of scrap. If his family were really related to some powerful Tinkers, then they wouldn’t be living out in the Crumbles with a junkyard surrounding their house.
Sure, their house was bigger than one of the stacked up apartment sheds that made up the bulk of the Crumbles, but he bet those folks didn’t have to wake up to the smell of stale motor oil, rust and tin every day. The only good thing about the junkyard was that he could pretty much find whatever he needed for assembling small Gadgets for himself.
And he needed a lot of materials.
Thode wasn’t exactly a machinist prodigy. His mom and dad were middle of the road Tinkers themselves, which meant they were above average at best. But their skills were able to come up with enough CCs to keep the family’s head above water, though they were always two shakes away from scraping the bottom. Even he understood that and he’d only just turned 13.
Still though, he loved his dad and his dad loved his stories. So Thode indulged him, “How strong were they, pop? You know, our ancestors.”
“Hmm, well we’ve got a whole bunch to pick from…now, you already know that Tinker Classifications are split up in two halves, High and Low, right?”
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Thode nodded.
“Well, the Low Tinkers start at the bottom with the lowest rank — Geartyke. Then, you upgrade to Geartech, Gearpunk and finally, Gearwhiz.
After that is Gearace and once you get to that rank, you’re considered a High Tinker. From there, it gets harder to find upgrades. But if you’re lucky and work hard, you can become a Gearmeister or even maybe a Gearlord. Don’t think about the highest of the High though. Gearkings and queens don’t grow on Crankedge anymore.”
His father paused for effect and Thode simply continued to nod along so that he would get on with it.
“Now, let’s see…the greatest in our line was Zebulon Stoolbottom, he was the highest Classification that exists — Gearking. But he didn’t become that powerful just by living here in Arcwatch. No, he left Crankedge altogether to make his fortune on the other worlds!”
Thode moved on from the circuit board in his hands to focus on the wiring for the fuel cell next. This was where he messed up the last time and ended up charring a few of the wires. He had to run out to the junkyard for more. “Mmhmm, that sounds pretty dynamo,” he replied wholly unenthused. “Who else was there, pop?”
“Well, we had a Gearlady once — that was your great, great, great, great grandaunt Alva Stoolbottom. And a rank below that at Gearmeister were your great, great granduncles Rufus and Brisco. You even had a great grandaunt at that rank too — Maud Stoolbottom.”
Carefully lining up the positive and negative wires, Thode meticulously wrapped them around each little electrode that stuck out of a small piece of standard-grade Graphite Coal. This was the weakest type of Coal out there and was barely enough to power standard-grade Gadgets, making it plenty safe for a child still learning how to engineer.
His dad stopped recounting their ancestral history for a breath to watch his progress. If Thode had made too big of a mistake, his dad would’ve gently reminded him to fix something. If it was just a small one, then his dad just let him go through with it. He always said, ‘Every mistake is a teacher.’
Thode finished wrapping the last wire to its electrode and thankfully, no crispy bits. He let out a small sigh of relief, though he wasn’t done. Before he moved on, he wanted to ask his dad to continue, since his voice seemed to calm Thode’s nerves. “Who else did we have, pop? Any Gearaces?”
“Oh, we’ve had too many of those to name. My father and mother were both Gearaces. It’s how they scrounged up so much scrap to pile up in our yards. Out here in the Crumbles, a Gearace is a top dog. Not many folks would wanna mess with them.”
“When do you think you’re gonna advance, pop? And what about mom?” Thode wondered, genuinely curious. His parents were both Gearwhizzes and he knew the requirements of the lowest four ranks of Tinker Classifications, but he wasn’t all that certain beyond that.
The High Tinker Classifications were all a mystery to him. There were so many nuances between them that he couldn’t keep track.
His dad waved a metallic hand dismissively, “Bah, don’t worry about us, lad. Your mom can already punch up a rank. She’s bested Gearaces before. You know you can’t rush your advancement. You can’t just integrate the first handful of Gear pieces you get your hands on. You gotta be careful, plan it out. If you pick something that isn’t upgradeable or less compatible with you, then you’re just gonna stunt your growth. Take your time. Find the right Gear. And put in the work to assimilate it right. The higher your integration rate, the more power you’ll be able to get out of it. If all you’re looking for is fast power, then you gotta get better at machining Gadgets.”
Thode rolled his eyes. He’d heard that speech plenty of times, so he moved on to the hardest part for him — generating Flux. The fuel cell of any Gadget was usually a piece of Coal that was modified to be rechargeable. There was always some sort of power leakage, even ultra high-grade Gadgets weren’t perfect. That loss came in the form of igniting the Coal to generate Flux.
Fundamentally, Coal was highly concentrated lumps of the six primary elements: Earth, Fire, Air, Water, Lightning and Ice. When a Gadget burned that Coal, elemental Flux would be produced, whose properties would be dictated by the type of Coal used.
Earth Flux could make earthen walls. Fire Flux produced fireballs. Air Flux conjured harsh winds. The list went on. The effect produced really depended on the circuitry of the particular Gadget being used. Gadgets could take the form of simple tools, weapons, armor and even vehicles.
The same principle worked with Gear pieces, however there was no Flux-loss in Gears. Gears were far more advanced than any Gadget. They integrated with flesh and replaced it with metal workings that were meant to utilize Coal perfectly.
His dad’s whole left arm had been fully integrated with a piece of Gear, turning it into a completely functional metallic limb made of solid dark copper that moved as seamlessly as a real arm, where finely segmented metal struts made up the ‘muscles’ and slid along tiny pistons with every minor movement.
The second Gear his dad had integrated was less obvious since he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a leather apron. But Thode knew it was there, just under the clothes. It took up his dad’s upper back and ran down the length of his spine. His second Gear connected directly to his left shoulder. As far as Thode knew, it was an ultra rare piece of Gear since it replaced his dad’s entire spine and spinal cord. The Gear made his every movement and reaction time faster, not as much as an individualized Gear piece for an arm or a leg, but more in a general way. That enhanced speed amplified the physical power of his left arm by two or three times.
Thode wanted a Gear like that. But his dad refused to tell him where he’d gotten it.
He shook his head and sighed, refocusing on the task at hand. The fuel cell was hooked up to the circuit board and now it was time to generate some Flux. If this was installed in a Gadget, then the Flux would be captured and pushed through more circuit boards to form it into whatever shape the Gadget needed it to be. But Thode wasn’t at that step. He only needed to burn a little bit of Coal.
Taking a deep breath, he flipped the switch on the circuit board, lighting the fuse. A spark traveled along the wires, coursing through them until the energy hit the electrodes on the fuel cell. He and his dad waited for a breath that stretched too long…
Then, the device exploded and everything went white.
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Thode’s eyes shot open as he gasped awake, his vision blurred by waving lines in murky water. His thoughts were a step or two behind as the cogs in his head took their sweet time to whir back to life.
After a handful of breaths, he realized that he was breathing through a copper diving mask that was strapped to his head and attached to a tube connected to the very bottom of a large, water filled tank.
This could only be the hydro chamber in Zeb’s hidden bunker.
It was a cylindrical vat made of thick glass that was sealed in a brass holding cell, filled to the brim with a mixture of water and healing tonic. This was the same hydro chamber that he’d used when he first lost his legs. It was a miracle of Gadgetry that the original Zebulon Wedgecraft had machined himself. Thode had no idea how it worked, but it had saved his life a number of times already, so he always made sure to keep it stocked with some decent apothecary tonics for emergencies like this one.
His injuries must have been worse than he thought for Zeb to get him into this thing. The hovering automaton had full reign over this bunker, which was designed specifically for it in mind. Thode didn’t understand why his ancestor left this bunker or why he created it to function the way it did, but right now, he didn’t care. Zeb must have used the hydraulic lift to pick his unconscious body up and place him in the vat.
Now that his mind started to catch up, he closed his eyes, wallowing in the soothing properties of the hydro chamber. He didn’t even remember how bad his wounds were, but he felt no pain at the moment, so they must have been healed completely. The only wound he felt now was a lingering ache in his chest.
That dream was so vivid, it was as if he’d re-lived that entire afternoon. Even now, he could still remember the scent of burnt ozone from the explosion. He had lost his sense of smell for days after. And his dad — the Hanged Gods bless him — the man just quietly helped him clean up the mess before his mother came home. And then they spent every day after that working on his machining until he finished the simple Gadget. It had been a small fire starter. And it was buried somewhere beneath the rubble of his old home right above this bunker.
Thode tentatively reached a hand out to the glass and tapped it a few times.
“By the Hanged Gods, lad, you scared the piss out of me!” Zeb exclaimed as the floating, one-eyed gyroscope came to hover in front of the tank.
You can’t piss, old man. You’re a rustbucket, Thode thought wryly.
He thunked the glass again, then urgently pointed to his diver’s mask.
“Hang on, hang on, I’ve got ya. Just hang tight…” Zeb reassured, floating down to a control panel at the base of the tank where an indentation was made specifically for its gyroscopic body.
The real Zebulon was fraggin’ brilliant…
With a sudden, downward rush, the water in the tank began to drain away. Soon enough, Thode’s head breached and he slicked his wet hair out of his face. Then, once his prosthetic feet touched the tank’s bottom, he finally pulled off the breathing mask, gulping in great big breaths of regular air.
“Open up the top, Zeb!” his voice echoed in the tank.
The hydro chamber’s canopy immediately popped open and Thode no longer wanted to stay put. He slightly bent his prosthetic legs, then jumped up and over, easily clearing the few paces worth of glass and landing casually on the metallic floor of the bunker.
He quickly grabbed a towel off a nearby chair that held his folded clothes and started drying off his entire body, starting with his head. By the time he was finished, he felt energized like he’d just gotten out of a relaxing bath.
Wrapping the towel around his waist, he turned to the rustbucket, “How long was I out for, Zeb?”
“Hmmm, little over a week. They really knocked you around good. Do you even remember who they were?”
Thode shook his head, “No, but we’re gonna find out.”