"Phillips."

“Phillips.”

"Allen."

“Allen.”

"No, not that one. The gray one. The multi—yeah."

“Allen.”

"Got it. Here, take this."

A twelve inch skeletal metal arm reached out and took it from her, then tucked the tool inside its body cavity. She scooted over to the other side of her project and reached up to grab a harness which hung from the ceiling. She pulled herself into her chair and wheeled across the cluttered room to a bench.

"Do you have a wrench? Adjustable... oh it’s here. Annnd... ratchet set? Umm, here maybe? Where are you? Ope! Found ya."

She grabbed the tools and a length of rope and went back over to her project. She tied the rope around the top half and attached it to a different ceiling harness, then pulled it taut with enough force to lift her from her seat.

"Okay, um... do you have a piece of rubber or something?"

“I have a 2x4 inch section of quarter inch corrugated rubber mat.”

"Really? Nice. Rubber mat,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Rubber mat.”

She wrapped the rubber piece around a perforated metal pole, then tightened the adjustable wrench and started turning.

"You liar," she grunted. "I know you're not welded. Dammit, just come loose."

It gave a little. After that, she made quick work of it, then loosened all the interior bolts. Soon, the whole setup gave way and sent the bottom half tumbling to the floor in a loud metal racket.

"Oops."

She waited, listening. When she was sure nobody had heard, she wheeled back a few inches to look at her work. "Ohhkay, that coulda been smoother. Here, take these."

She lowered herself to the floor and scooted over to the bottom half of the Factor she had just successfully dissected. The legs and pelvis lay on the floor, while everything from the abdomen up hung from its armpits and stared down at her with somebody's deep blue eyes. She really wished she had taped them shut, but oh well. Dark brown hair hung from the Factor’s bioskin head in waist-length braids she thought she could use—but later.

First she had a pelvis to destroy.

"Where are we?" Tansy said. She held a hand over her eyes to shield them against the onslaught of morning August sun. August. If only she had known what August would bring when she had complained to Ma about July.

They looked out over a river and on to some buildings set against the familiar Philadelphia skyline in the distance.

"Is this Fairmount Park?" she said.

Frank snorted. "Once upon a time, yeah. Wait," he said, turning to face her. "How did you know that?"

Tansy smiled enigmatically and started walking.

"Wait, are you from Philly? Hey! Where are you going?"

"To the water!"

"Please, my friends. Quietly. It is not safe," Elio said, overtaking them to lead the way. Together, they made a path through the dense underbrush down to the riverbank.

"Turn around," Tansy said, hiking up her skirt. She squatted behind an oak tree and moaned. "Finally! I was about to burst."

She turned around to find both men relieving themselves into the river, apparently vying for distance. Elio won that contest, but Frank took home the gold for sheer volume.

"Dang, Frank,” she said. “That cannot be good for you.”

"Hey! No fair, peeking."

They stood in silence for a minute; the men scanned the far bank while Tansy watched a strider glide over rippled sunshine reflected off the still, clear backwater.

"I don't know how to swim," she whispered .

They turned to look at her.

"What?" Frank said.

She gestured toward the water and sighed. "You're planning on crossing. I'm telling you, I can't swim."

"But," Frank said, "you look so capable."

She gave him that look he had been getting so often lately. "What?"

"I don't know. Forget I said that."

"Do you float?" Elio asked.

"Float?" she repeated.

"Yes, my darling," he answered, picking a twig out of her hair. "Do you float? Because, if you will trust us, we can get you across the river."

She looked at Elio, then at the water. "Surely there's a bridge."

"They'll be patrolling the bridges," Frank said, "Guaranteed."

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"Well, what about..." she said, trailing off. "I really don't want to die."

"You will not," Elio said. Frank nodded in agreement.

"My bag," she said, her voice trembling. "Everything will get wet. What if we just go around?"

"Around a river?" Elio shook his head and held his hands toward her as if to touch her. "May I, dear Tansy?"

She nodded.

He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and looked into her terrified eyes with his own beguiling pair. He spoke to her in the low, soothing tones that worked—unfailingly—to change a person's mind.

Unfailingly.

When Elio said what he had to say, he let go of her shoulders and stood back, nodding his head sagely and with full confidence.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "Yeah. I think I'll just take my chances on a bridge." She turned to go.

"Nope," Frank said, stepping in front of her.

Five minutes later, Tansy held her bag aloft between her and the sky as her ears dipped in and out of the water.

"That's it," Frank said. "Keep your head back. Just like that. Breathe. Easy. You got it."

"Don't drown me," Tansy said.

"Never."

On the opposite bank, Frank doubled over and caught his breath while Elio put his wet shoes back on and Tansy kneeled at the water's edge, whispering.

When she was done, Frank joked, "If the river starts talking back, will you let me know?"

Tansy turned to face him, smiling the benevolent smile of the wise. “The river is always speaking, Frank. Do you ever listen?"

Just listen.

Feeling like she had slapped him in the face, Frank turned toward the Philly skyline and took a few deep, steadying breaths. "Where to?"

Elio said. "I would like to return to my home for some items."

"Okay. I’m going with you."

"Eh, to Brewerytown, my friend? Do you think that is—"

"I told her I would, man."

"I understand. It would perhaps be wiser to wait? Let me at least look around first."

Frank shook his head slowly and vehemently and was about to speak his mind when Tansy walked up to them, gnawing on a handful of leaves. Her thin cotton blouse, still wet from the river crossing, clung to her in all the right places, and she was smiling to herself in a peaceful way that was completely at odds with her life's trajectory.

Frank felt something he wished he could will away.

"Look what I found," she said, holding out her hand. "It's purslane! It's all over. Want some?"

Both men shook their heads almost violently.

"What is it?" Frank said.

"It's a plant," she said. "You know? No? They grow in the soil? Usually green? Often edible?"

Elio sneered the most beautiful sneer. "I despise leaves."

"I'm with him," Frank said.

"Try it," she said. "You might like it." She raised one eyebrow suggestively. Or was it suggestive? Maybe it just felt suggestive to Frank the way everything felt suggestive to Frank, especially lately.

He patted her hand and said, "You know, Tansy, I think I'm just not hungry enough to act on that yet."

"Fine," she said, shrugging. "Lots more for me." She picked more nearby purslane and tucked a wad into her sling bag before returning to the men.

Frank stared.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing," Frank answered with a grin. "I just... you know what? Never mind."

"Come with me," Elio said. "I know of a place where we can stay."

"Tubing?"

“No tubing.”

"Dang it," she said, slumping back into her chair. She wiped her brow with her shirt and took a swig of water before going to a window and shutting out the noonday sun.

"What am I gonna use, Buster?"

“I do not understand.”

"Do you have blueprints for a—"

She stopped, listening.

“I do not understand.”

"Quiet, Buster."

There it was again. Clanging out in the hallway—her makeshift alarm, tripped.

She pressed a button, and the power went off in the studio. She scanned the room for valuables, picked up Buster, and wheeled into an old elevator shaft. She waited, willing her heartbeat out of her ears so she could hear. When she heard footsteps, she closed the elevator doors.

"Power down, Buster," she whispered.

The workshop door creaked open.

"Hello?" called a man's softly accented voice. "Hello, is there anyone? We are friends."

Nuh uh, she thought. She listened, barely breathing. More footsteps now. Two people, at least.

"What is this place?" Another man's voice, definitely a local. He sounded like the creep she ran into last month. She was still having nightmares about that narrow escape.

"I knew someone who lived here long ago," the smoother man said. "It has been empty for many years."

"You sure about that?" A woman's voice that time.

The intruders talked for a minute. She couldn't make out most of it, just the occasional word like "fresh" and "dust." Someone opened the window. The woman gasped.

"Oh wow! Someone's been naughty."

"What?"

"Well," the woman said, "these are incredibly valuable. And this is (unintelligible) model, which someone is definitely (unintelligible)."

"Why bust it up then?" the local asked.

"No idea. Not for the parts, since those are free from the company."

"How do you know?"

"I... just do. Probably (unintelligible) scrap."

"Then why bust it up? Scrappers would do that."

"True. Hmm. (Unintelligible) not actually busted."

She heard parts being shuffled around.

"Whoever did (unintelligible) carefully. And they (unintelligible)."

"Is there anything useful?"

The man's voice was so close, she nearly screamed. Instead, she held her breath as a shadow fell over the elevator door's window. The metal doors rattled as the intruder tried the handle once, then again.

Lungs screaming, she closed her eyes and willed him not to see her.

Seconds later, his voice carried from across the room. She opened her mouth and silently gasped for air. Her lips were numb, her head throbbing.

"Anything?"

"(Unintelligible) locked. Strangely, there is a wheelchair inside, along with some small robot. (Unintelligible) stairs. Or perhaps even on this floor, but—"

"What robot?" the woman said, her footsteps growing closer.

She held her breath and closed her eyes again.

"Aww, cute! I had one like it when I was little." The woman tried the door handle. "I wonder if we can pry it—"

"I must go now," the smooth guy said. "Shall we find a safe space for you first? One with a door that locks?"

"Yeah, okay," the woman said, walking away. "But (unintelligible) later."

When she heard the door creak and slam shut, she opened her eyes and exhaled. Her head, though! It felt like someone was trying to pry it open with a crowbar.

She hated this part.

She placed Buster on the floor and leaned forward, squeezing her head between her palms. Minutes passed, and she steadily slowed her breathing and centered herself, exhaling the pain. Her heartbeat slowed, clarity returned, and she picked up Buster and placed him on her lap.

Then the elevator doors slid open.

“Do not be alarmed,” the smooth man said. “I am–”

She raised her slingshot and struck him square in the chest.