A Circle of Fate and Pain
by Elliot Bowers
Chapter 2—Welcome, Friends…
1.
Inside this shop was a place that looked like a mechanic's work-space, a pawn shop, a corner market, and a bookstore all combined into one place. Somehow this combination was made to look coherent and organized. A long metal counter divided this place in half. The counter was for when scavengers could lay out the goods they'd brought in: set the goods atop the metal counter for inspection and appraisal before selling. There was a heavy mechanical cash register at the far end. And on this side of the shop, there were two tables where people could sit down or talk business, some old and oil-stained mechanics' pamphlets stacked atop the tables. To Sieben, the counter was just above waist-height. It was up to Kyrie's shoulders.
The other half of this room, behind the counter, was the shopkeeper's area. Back there were painted metal lockers set alongside shelves of tools. Some of those tools were especially pricey and therefore locked out of sight. Left and right were shelves. And in the center was a high-stool, where the shopkeeper himself sat—a round-bellied man in work-shirt and floppy pants, the tee shirt covering a round fleshy belly while leaving bare his industrial-looking metal arms. While the rest of the big man may have taken on a big belly, those were the big industrial-metal arms of a former factory worker and Motorball mechanic. Right now one of those arms had been holding up a tattered but well-taped hardcover book—the fronts and backs replaced with plastic.
He put a cloth bookmark in the place before getting up to put it atop the counter. "Hey-hey! If it isn't Scrap Town's famous elf-girl! Have you come to lure me away to the land under the hills—to lull my life away in magical music and soul-softening fairy wine?"
Kyrie moved her arms to put hands on shorts-covered hips, the movement making her jacket flaring like wings. "Now Mr. Okotonz, there is little to no empirical evidence of such beings as elves or fairies ever having existed anywhere in history. Science has long ago trumped any such notion of a mythical thing denoted as 'magic'--instead replacing it with something altogether more practical and real. As for my physical appearance, my phenotype, it is more the result of happenstance than the result of anything mythical. Mythical is the word…" She smiled. "Well, I give greetings to you as well."
"Come on, kiddo! A man can dream, can't he?" he asked. "But think about how you look. Only an elf-girl would have long, pale-silk hair like yours—hair the color of moonbeams. And only an elf-girl would have big pretty eyes like yours and the look of a child. How old are you… Twenty-something--still looking so sweet and innocently young? Face it. You look like you stepped out of a fairy tale to live in this crazy machine-city. All you need, girl, is for your ears to be a bit more pointy!"
Kyrie gave him such a look! Yes, Mr. Okotonz was in another one of those moods. "Mr. Okotonz, are we to trade discussions of mythology upon every meeting? Or is it that you wish to test the limits of my patience? Our friendship extends over generations..."
"Come on, kiddo. I'm just trying to get you to lighten up," he said. "Okay, okay. I'll leave you alone. I know full well that mythology is what it is, not real. But you're just so cute when you lose your composure. It adds some color to that cute face of yours. It seems that you have to learn that every other time you come here."
"What!" said Kyrie. She broke that hands-on-hips pose to put her hands to her face--which was feeling quite warm. Her cheeks must have an embarrassingly crimson undertone by now. And the knowledge of her blushing only made the blush increase its hold. Indeed, she wasn't too good with people. And no matter how long she had known Mr. Okotonz, he was still able to do this to her.
That metal-bodied man then turned his head to look at Sieben—gave her a quick look up and down as if he could see through her close-fitting outfit and inspect the condition of her body. "Hello to you too, young lady! I see the elf-girl's been keeping her promise and keeping your body in good repair." He put on a phony frown. "Well, she'd better if she wants to keep in business with me. 'Save your life,' indeed! How are you doing?"
"Just fine, Mr. Okotonz," responded Sieben. The replicate then put up a hand in greeting. Mr. Okotonz nodded to her before returning his attention to Kyrie. Talk was good, but business had to be taken care of first. While he watched Kyrie put her messenger bag to put up on the counter, Sieben's own eyes strayed to look on some of the tools on shelves behind the counter, behind where Mr. Okotonz was sitting.
Every so often she would look on a particular tool that made her vaguely uncomfortable. Since this shop dealt in tools for Motorball cyborgs, some of the equipment looked particularly heavy and brutal. Sieben couldn't help but imagine some of them being used on her own electromechanical body… Some of those tools, she had been told, were used for Motorball cyborgs to swap into temporary body-configurations for playing the sport. Sieben liked her body configuration just as it was: an electromechanical body that had a nice shape and was capable of speed and fighting. Besides, some Motorball players turned their bodies into things that looked more like vehicles than bodies. The metal-bodied girl really wasn't comfortable with the idea of strangers working on her body—one of the reasons why she couldn't be a Motorball player.
Some embarrassed color still on her cheeks, Kyrie put up five items atop the counter--five circular-cased items, each of them about the size of a makeup compact and with polished cases. They had wires and tubes trailing out the sides--or bottoms. Mr. Okotonz could just smile. Some of those parts presented were especially rare, all of them in such pristine condition. Then again, Kyrie could make parts—the girl being that smart. Just how smart she was, he would again be reminded.
Mr. Okotonz got up to reach underneath the counter to take out a heavy device which he set atop the counter--next to the items Kryie was presenting. The device had an industrial and heavy look to it, a thick square metal case with four rubber things on the bottom to keep it in place. The top of the case had four adjustable plastic dials with finger-holds--set beneath dials. Out the right side of the case was a foot-long thick cable--smaller wires of multiple colors coming out of the cable, with clips at the end. It looked something like a battery charger from long ago.
That man with metal arms then expertly clipped the red-, orange- and blue-colored wires to ends of one of the cyborg components that Kyrie set atop the table. He then flicked on the device by turning one of the knobs. A low hummm came from the boxy device as he flicked another knob--setting up a test sequence... No, this can't be right.
"Now wait a second!" exclaimed Mr. Okotonz. "Kyrie, electroshock rectifiers usually waste some of the electrical flow it's supposed to make steady. I've never seen one so efficient that it adds energy after correcting it. How'd you do it?"
Kyrie smiled. "Do you recall the Strong-Bond Theory manual you sold me the last time? Well, I found it to be especially interesting reading. As I have read, electroshock rectifiers tend to lose some functionality over centuries as certain crystal parts within decay. The parts will still work--but become much less efficient." She shrugged. "I simply found a means of restoring the viability of the crystals within."
"What! Hmmph." Mr. Okotonz shook his head...before tilting it back and exploding with laughter! "Aa-a-ah, ha-ha-ha-ha... That sounds so crazy that it's amazing!" He looked down at the girl. "Well, there's no way around it. I've got to give you triple the credits for just this one device. Just...amazing. Wait here."
He turned to get to an armored door to the right of the parts lockers against the wall. Door opened, he left this room for a while. Kyrie folded her hands in front of herself and looked around... Most of the goods on display in this shop were just for show. The best items--original texts from Zalem, rare tools--were only shown to those who had known Mr. Okotonz for years...
When Mr. Okotonz came back, he had a head-sized synthetic-cloth sack full of credit-chips. There was no doubt that those were credit chips, because only credit-chips made that sound when in bags--making jewel-like clinkety sounds. He set it atop the counter. "Now listen. This is about half of what I've got on hand. You might want to have your friend pick it up to count."
Sieben nodded. Her own metal arms were more slender and lithe-looking than Mr. Okotonz's metal ones, but her body was originally built with warfare-grade technology from Zalem. She easily took the sack of weighty credit-chips off the counter, brought it down and opened the top and presented the top of it to Kyrie.
Kyrie tucked some lengths of her hair away from her eyes before she sort of leaned over to look into the bag--her big eyes seeming to become even bigger, the vertical slit pupils widening. "Mr. Okotonz! This... This is far too much!" She looked up at him. "You said this was half of what you have on hand. But... If all of these credits are of the same denomination, it must be a month's worth of scavenger trades!"
"And the goods you're giving me are worth every chip--if not more," said Mr. Okotonz seriously. "Did you know that I've always got a backlog of Motorball mechanics wanting the 'premium' parts that only I seem to get? Nine times out of ten, they're your items that they want. Kyrie, if I didn't know your father and if we weren't friends, I wouldn't tell you this. But you didn't trade and sell with me, there would be a lot of other traders who'd want to do business with you."
The pale-haired girl shook her head. "And then they just might threaten my life to find out where I get them. Or they would pay to have black-market thugs to kidnap me. No, Mr. Okotonz, I prefer to remain in business with you. Except the extent of the money you have given me could put you out of business..."
"Not at all, sweetie-pie!" countered Mr. Okotonz. "I'm definitely going to make up for it with the sales of these amazing electroshock rectifiers. Besides, I own this place. And I own it thanks to trading with you and your father..."
My father, mused Kyrie. Sieben saw Kyrie's eyes take on that far-off and sad look. Her face suddenly brightened again. "Well then! Mr. Okotonz, if that completes this transaction, I shall leave you to enjoy the quality of the goods given. Sieben, let's go to that club! And we shall have to exchange bags, for I am not physically strong enough to bear the weight of that money..."
2.
As the machines and machine-people deeper within Scrap Iron City continued working along until quitting time. The churning smoke from smokestacks deeper within Scrap Iron City eventually gave way to a dissipating mist as more people were off-duty for the day. More people were walking along city sidewalks, going to see friends or maybe talk about spending some of their wages on a visit to the Motorball arena. That, and there were even more miscellaneous city people filling the restaurants and bars in Tire Wire Alley. Then came the long orange-red of sunset on the western horizon.
Sieben and Kyrie were already well-along that long path of sand and loam path that went across the wide plain on the way back to the converted building they called home. Sieben now had Kyrie's messenger bag--which was now noticeably sagging with the sack of credits earned from the day's trade. Very little of the money was actually spent at that one particular club that Kyrie wanted to visit. Kyrie did not drink alcoholic beverages as even a little of it was enough to turn her into a babbling idiot. She actually found that out from experience. And there was only so much money a person could spend on grape soda and flan served by the waiters and waitresses while listening to musicians perform.
They were nearly home, and Kyrie was still humming a particularly mournful and beautiful melody from one of the clubs--the sound of the wind acting as accompaniment. That song was so beautifully sad that it was as if the girl in trench-coat singing it was close to tears. The lyrics were especially good and deep as well--lyrics singing of being torn apart with nightmares...and with dreams. And way the orange-red sunset glowed on the western horizon would have fitted the song wonderfully. There was something about sunsets... Something high above fluttered away.
It wasn't until they were at the armored front door that Kyrie stopped her humming. Too bad, because Sieben liked the sound of the girl's voice when humming. "Hey, Kyrie..." began Sieben, breaking into a new vein of conversation. "Are you still thinking about doing some singing yourself?"
"Hmm?" voiced Kyrie as she completed dialing the combination to the front of the house. A few more button presses from her fine fingers, and the mechanical sounds of the front door unlocking whirred open within the house. She tilted her head to the left. "Oh... Myself, it would be far too much of a distraction. Also true is how I lack knowledge of the craft--the intricacies of melody and interplay of accompaniment. I much prefer to toddle about with machinery." Click-clack! The door parted, and Kyrie pulled at it--the door counter-weighted and easy enough to pull open even for Kyrie. They went inside.
Flick! Kyrie turned on just half of the lights--making for there being just enough light to see by. Turning them all on at once, that would be too bright as compared to the sunset-dimness outside. It was enough to see the entire room and be sure that nothing had come into the house. There were bars over the windows all over the house. Also true was how all doors save the front door were locked. Except, it was better safe than sorry in making sure that nothing had come in.
Another flick of the light switch, and on came the other half of the lights. "Erg-ach!" came a sound. What the Hell, thought Sieben, looking around. "Ach-ach-ach," came some more sounds...coming from the outside. Those sounds were only barely human. "Elkric-whach-ach-ach...!"
Even if Sieben had never heard that particular kind of gutteral gibberish before, she knew what was making it. Mutants, came the thought. Mutants, things that were either once human or not even born human were outside of this house. All of the miscellaneous chemicals that saturated places in the landscape of metal junk, along with places that were radioactive for hundreds of years--all of that did things to people before they were born. And in some rare cases, certain addictive drugs sold in the city made people turn. Unlike Kyrie, most all mutants were that way.
This house was generally safe from those things outside. The mutants may have somehow gotten over or through the metal fence around the house, but there was no way they could break through the barred windows with shatter-proofed annealed glass. They were still loud enough to be heard.
Sieben didn't like things that made Kyrie scared. And it was her job to keep Kyrie safe. "Unlock the door, then lock it behind me," said Sieben--her tone of voice darkened. "I'll deal with them." And maybe there'll be a real mess when I'm done with them, too.
Whack-k-k! Something hit one of the barred windows. "Elkric--satyagraha!" cheered one of the mutants outside. Whack came again when something else was hurled at another window. Apparently, the things outside were intent on causing trouble. And Sieben would go out to cause them trouble in turn.
Kyrie grabbed one of Sieben's metal arms. "Sieben, they do not know what they do! And it is not as if any harm can come to me within here..." Kyrie said this, but her voice still quivered with fear. Sieben gently--but firmly--pulled her left arm away from Kyrie before facing the armored door. She then took off her jacket. The female replicate was ready to go back out the same way they had come in not even minutes earlier.
Behind Sieben, the heavy armored door clankedshut. It was getting close to dark out here--sunlight nearly down and past the horizon, the sky above a very faint blue-black. Fw-w-wick! Inside the house-building, Kyrie had turned on the security illumination; now a set of blazing lights glared on to cast the fenced-in front area of the house-building in glaring blue-white florescent illumination. They were nuclear-powered spotlights and were just as bright.
"Satya-gra-ha-a-a!" exclaimed one of the lumpy bodied, trenchcoat-clad figures as it staggered a step back and nearly lost a grip on the steel pipe in its left hand. The distorted figure stepped as if wanting to make a run for it, to run off into the darkened landscape around this too-bright place.
Sieben's robotic eyes easily adjusted to compensate for the intense illumination. And her electrically powered agility allowed her to dash at the one trenchcoat-wearing figure with the steel pipe. The metal-bodied girl was a wind-fast blur. Fwap-p-p! Her blur-fast dash of speed ended with her right leg extended in a kick--sending the lumpy figure in trenchcoat back and away, crashing to the hard dirt by the metal fence.
"Oop? Orp-a-dollop," said another one of the mutants--a creature that seemed to be all arms and chest. This one didn't even bother with a trenchcoat. The mutant's blue-furred body just clad in a pair of pants, the upper body so gigantic with huge muscles that it stayed standing upright by using its long arms, pressing its gigantic hands to the ground. It then propelled itself forward by shoving against the ground to go flying head-first at Sieben--ready to knock down the girl.
Except Sieben was suddenly five meters to her left. There was a still-smoking double-streak in the dirt where her feet had scraped in stopping. And the double-streak in the ground was still smoking a bit when Sieben went at the gigantic-armed mutant. She struck, using the strength of her left leg in leaning into a right-fisted punch to the thing's chest. The creature gurgled a wet sound as something inside its chest was broken, then collapsed to the ground.
The third one was less easy to handle than the rest--a hapless and once-human creature with its skin hanging loose in its body and hanging in folds like a sheet. Its face had no nose as there was just a gigantic hole. This one chose to hang back. Splort! A greenish stream of something acidic swished out from the hole in its head--jetting through the air and nearly hitting Sieben full in the face. Yet some of it did hit her.
Sieben had dodged, but not without a few droplets sprinkling her right cheek. She blinked back the stinging pain of the liquid droplets--those droplets now dissolving streaks through her right cheek, down that side of her face, her face. Not only was it the immediate physical pain that hurt, but it was also the pain of disfigurement. For a moment, the metal-bodied girl could just stare into the red eyes of the once-human creature that had spit at her.
The undamaged side of her face grimacing into anger, Sieben acted. She flipped herself into a handstand--legs upward and towards the sky, her arms pressing the ground, metal hands biting into the dirt. Her fists compacted some of the dirt. She hurled the dirt as she flipped herself upright again: allowing her body to act as a two-handed electromechanical catapult.
It also resulted in fist-sized balls of compressed soil being sent bullet-fast through the air. These projectiles slammed into the face of the spitting mutant. Dark and glistening oily fluid began gushing from the holes in its own face. And in the bright glaring lights shining down from the upper story of the house-building, the contrast in color between the mutant's fish-gray chest and the dark fluid was like spilled ink on newspaper.
"Och-och... Bur-r-rble..." The thing began to gurgle as it staggered away towards the opening in the fence--to escape into the near-darkness of the surrounding landscape around this building. It would maybe die out there. It was better than having it die around here; Sieben hated cleaning up after dealing with mutants. And that was part of why she often used non-lethal blows.
Those other two mutants were also getting up. That one with the trenchcoat clutched its chest in standing up to stagger away as well. The blue-furred one didn't get to its feet as much as it got to its hands. Both of them recovered, they wanted to get away from here.
Sieben watched as that wayward bunch stepped out of this brightly lit area and into the darkness. If they didn't faint or die on their way, they would probably make their way around the surrounding fences to the hills of metal junk. Only when she was sure that no others were around did she put her right hand to the side of her face where the spitting mutant got her: metal fingers on tender synthetic flesh. She held her right hand to that side of her face as she made her way back to the armored front door of the house-building.