Chapter 24 - The Maker of Bangor
It was official. Nothing Marle did surprised her anymore.
That was what Lucca would write in the dwindling pages of her diary sometime tonight, and in bold lettering despite the limited space. After six days of making a general nuisance of herself in the Bangor enclave, and with Lucca in particular, the former Princess of Guardia had publicly – and loudly - declared her intention to join the enclave as a full citizen.
And as a member of the Protector-caste, no less.
“What? You think I'd do better as as an Operator or a Maker?” Marle asked her.
“I'm not even going to honor that with a response,” Lucca replied, trying not to sound snide.
“Thought you'd agree. So what are you worried about? This can only help us, you know?”
Lucca, Marle, and Crono were walking side-by-side down one of the main corridors of the Bangor underground towards the enclave's central armory, where dozens of beige-clad Protector-caste citizens were assembling for the unexpected ceremony that had been announced two hours ago. More than a few enclave residents were giving Marle a dubious look as they made their way past.
“I know I said there wasn't any rush in going back to Krawlie's lair,” Lucca said. “That doesn't mean I intend to make this my permanent residence. Just long enough to figure out how to get us home without messing things up.”
“Marle, I'm not sure you understand what a big step this is,” Crono said. “Full citizens are expected to carry their weight and give their all for the survival of the enclave. I've been awake long enough to tell you that much. An oath of citizenship isn't something you can easily walk away from.”
“These people need our help,” Marle said more seriously. “And if we can't tell them everything about us, we need to make up for it in other ways. Using our best talents to help them survive. For me, you know what that means.” She hefted her crossbow for emphasis.
“You do know that plasma rifles are an entirely different animal from that thing?” Lucca pointed out. “Using one might not be as easy as you think.”
“What's hard about pointing and shooting? I've been doing that my whole life! Ranged weapons might change over time, but the discipline of marksmanship doesn't. No problem.”
“I used to think the same thing about swordsmanship,” Crono cautioned. “It's not that simple. There have been many different sword types developed over the years, and each of them require their own technique to wield effectively. And even if you only specialize in one, you have to adjust your technique to deal with whatever weapon your opponent is wielding, too. Switching to an unfamiliar weapon always presents dangers, even if you've mastered another.”
“Oh, come on, Crono! It's not like people are going to be shooting at me during the trial. Nothing the Protectors shoot at ever shoots back, so it's just a question of hitting things before they get close enough to hurt you. I can't imagine this trial of theirs could be more involved than dealing with GATO at the Millennial Fair.” Marle shrugged confidently. “It'll be easy.”
Lucca scowled. In three years, no crossbow wielder had ever gotten a perfect score challenging GATO, and Marle had done it from the top of the stands. Shameless show-off. “The first thing I'll do when I get home is make a new program card for GATO that'll take your ego down a peg,” Lucca said. “Don't think that I can't.”
“I look forward to it,” Marle said with a playful wink.
The three time-travelers came to a large storeroom that the enclave residents had long ago converted into an armory and shooting range, and the two men standing guard – each holding well cared for plasma rifles across their chests - let them pass. Nearly a hundred Protectors and curious citizens from other castes were already present, sitting on makeshift chairs or leaning against the walls as space permitted. None of the people Lucca recognized as Protectors, she noticed, looked all that pleased to be here.
Like they have anything better to do, Lucca mused. The Protectors were by far the smallest of the three castes, and most of them often found themselves with a surplus of free time despite their numbers. Partly that was because of the limited number of weapons available. Not a one of Bangor's rifles or pistols was less than 300 years old, and their sophisticated components were notoriously hard to duplicate with the materials the enclave had, resulting in a stockpile that was frequently traded out to avoid unwelcome maintenance issues from piling up. But the food supply was also an issue. There were only so many rats to be hunted at any one time before their numbers were exhausted, and sending people out with little prospect of getting a kill only put them at risk of being ambushed by glassers (or “mutants”, as the enclave residents called them) out of the shadows. There simply wasn't a need for that many Protectors. Likely, the enclave's defenders were only lamenting the fact that one of the most annoying people to ever visit their domain was about to join their ranks. Marle's reputation for bugging people and asking them for help operating pretty much anything electronic didn't make her very popular, and her frequent locking of horns with Amelia Evans over reg violations was a subject of continual gossip among the residents.
A burly looking man with dark skin and a scraggly beard of peppered silver then stepped into view and rapped on a nearby metal shelf with a much abused pan to get everyone's attention. Burly was perhaps too strong a word, as everyone who sustained themselves via enertron developed a uniformly gaunt appearance, as if perpetually on the brink of starvation, but the man's eyes were uncommonly focused and his posture was ramrod straight. Lucca recognized him as Assistant Director Stephan Morris, leader of the Bangor underground's Protector-caste, and the enclave's overall fourth in command.
“I'll get straight to it, people,” the gruff Assistant Director said without preamble. “A new soul wishes to join the ranks of our community today. A soul of the forgotten wastes whose aimless wandering brought her to be among us through providence.”
A few snickers echoed through the crowd at that last word, but they were quickly silenced by a glare from Morris. Lucca knew he was just reciting the age-old proclamation for the sake of appearances. Any outsider who sought to join the enclave as a full citizen was a “soul of the forgotten wastes”, and someone to be cherished as if delivered through providence. Lucca wondered if there had ever been a time when these words were uttered with a similar lack of sincerity.
“Given a choice between the three great castes of our community, this young woman desires the role of Protector.” He then turned to where Marle was standing. “Is this what your heart desires?”
“It is,” Marle said clearly enough for all to hear.
Assistant Director Morris nodded solemnly, and his gaze took on a harder edge. “Is it, truly? The life of a Protector is one without ease. One which you may be called upon to freely give in the defense of our community. To be sent into danger at a moment's notice without question. To fulfill your duty and the orders of your superiors at all costs.” Morris said all of this with growing volume and stepped closer to Marle with each statement. His formality had been completely dropped now, and the Assistant Director looked almost angry. “This is not a game, young lady! I have watched people die! Friends! A single careless moment or delayed action can get you ripped apart! The freaks of nature that infest our once great city do not think! They do not feel! They are completely and utterly without mercy! And they never stop. There are always more. The ruins ever belong to them and the rats on which they feed. So I ask you again: Is this... what your heart... desires?”
It was to Marle's eternal credit that she didn't blanch at the verbal drubbing she was being subjected to. Lucca couldn't honestly say if she could have done the same, especially knowing too well the truth of the AD's words. But maybe it was because Marle had developed a sort of immunity to such things. Being the daughter of King Malcolm probably helped a lot, as by all accounts the reigning monarch of Guardia from 1300 years ago was no less hard or demanding than the man she was facing now.
“I've dealt with those 'freaks of nature' before,” Marle told her interrogator evenly, their faces almost touching. “They were rather... frozen by what I could do to them. I only need a new weapon to continue the fight. Give me one, and I'll show you what I can do.”
A wicked grin spread across Assistant Director Morris' features. “So let the trial begin. But first, prove to us that you have the vigor and vitality of a Protector. Only then will we allow you to wield the arms of Bangor.
“DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY!”
* * *
Marle found herself suddenly paralyzed by the barked command. A command louder than any her own father had given her in her former life. Drop and give him what?
“Push-ups!” Crono and Lucca said in unison.
Are you serious? Marle thought with dismay. What did this have to do with marksmanship? All she needed was a weapon, for Creation's sake!
Still, her body responded almost immediately once she finally understood what was asked of her, and she fell to the floor and began unsteadily pushing her body upward from a face down position. Over and over and... over. Her face colored noticeably, but more from embarrassment than from the exertion. Her ponytail fell backwards across her face as she moved, and the golden bracelets around her arms shifted and slipped down to her wrists where they inevitably got in the way of her repetitive task. The Star of Guardia around Marle's neck clanked on the concrete floor every time she let gravity take hold. If she knew she would have to do something like this, she'd have left her jewelry with Crono and Lucca. What a disgrace!
“ON YOUR FEET, PROTECTOR!”
Marle gasped. “But I'm not...” She was sure she had only counted to thirty.
“I SAID ON YOUR FEET! THE ENEMY'S COMING!”
“Wha...?”
Marle nearly missed catching the well-polished rifle Assistant Director Morris abruptly tossed to her. She fumbled with the unfamiliar firearm. It was the first time she had so much as touched a plasma rifle, and it was a lot heavier than she thought. Or maybe it was just because her arms were so tired. Laughter began to ensue from a few of the spectators.
“THERE! THE TARGET! FIRE!”
A crudely painted target depicting the image of a red-skinned glasser mutant suddenly appeared in Marle's peripheral vision, and she turned to face the far wall where it had popped up. The distance was about seventy-five feet, a shot that Marle could bullseye half asleep any day of the week with her crossbow, and she pulled the trigger after an uncomfortable moment steadying the barrel. She had never fired a rifle before. There was nowhere in Guardia Castle she could have practiced with something so loud without the Royal Guard immediately taking notice and alerting her father to her activities. Malcolm would have certainly locked her up for months if she'd tried. Still, it was just point and shoot. Nothing could be more simple.
Nothing happened.
“TAKE THE SAFETY OFF, GRUNT!” Morris crowed. “IT'S GONNA GETCHA!”
“Safety?! Huh?!”
More laughter echoed through the armory, and Marle found herself beginning to panic. Why wouldn't the stupid thing fire? It wasn't like those crazy computers with hundreds of buttons that you needed to know calculus to decipher. In fact, the weapon had four buttons along with the trigger, she finally noticed, and something that looked like a dial on the left side of the forestock. That was five controls too many for something with such a simple function. What kind of sadist would design something like...
“THREE...!”
“TWO...!”
“ONE...!”
Marle hit the weapon's controls at random and spun the forestock dial before lining up again for the shot. That had to do something. She pulled the trigger just after her loudmouth examiner reached the count of one.
“No, wait!”
Lucca's shouted warning just had time to register in Marle's mind, but a split second too late to stop her shaking trigger finger. The next thing she knew, she was flying backwards into the spectators behind her, a deafening shriek having erupted through the barrel in the general direction of the target, and the sound of flying debris hitting stone and steel was dimly heard through Marle's ringing ears. So were screams.
A moment later, a dazed Marle was helped to her feet by Crono while Lucca was examining the infernal weapon still clutched firmly in Marle's hand. A sizable chunk of stone had been blown out of the far wall about two feet above the target. She had missed.
Missed!
“'Protector', you are more dangerous to your allies than the enemy!” Morris barked. His earlier gleeful heckling had been replaced with genuine anger.
“Maximum setting,” Lucca remarked quietly in Marle's ear. “This could have blown up a Dragon Tank with one shot. What were you thinking just punching things at random?”
I was thinking that a weapon should be easy to use so I can actually concentrate on what I'm shooting at, Marle thought with growing fury. What a humiliation! She couldn't remember the last time she had missed a target that badly, or at all. It was a wonder someone wasn't seriously hurt just now.
“Set it... up for me, then,” Marle told Lucca through gritted teeth, her temper hanging on by the thinnest of threads. “This isn't over.”
Lucca took all of three seconds manipulating the weapon's controls and then slapped Marle on the shoulder. “Single-action, minimal power, trigger free,” she said. “Go knock 'em dead. And try not to take that literally, okay?”
Marle snorted and stormed up to Assistant Director Morris, holding her weapon as confidently as she could project under the circumstances.
“All right, playtime's over!” she said loudly enough to be heard by everyone in the armory. “Set up ten targets at the farthest distance you can, then set up ten more targets after I burn through the first set. If I don't bullseye five consecutive sets without a miss, I'll withdraw my request to join the Protectors and you'll never hear from me again. How's that sound?”
Assistant Director Morris seemed suitably taken aback by Marle's audacious boast, though it almost seemed to her that he was trying hard not to burst into laughter.
We'll see who's laughing after I'm done, she promised the arrogant man silently.
As it turned out, the weapon only had enough energy for four more shots, but one shot was all that was needed to end Marle's trial.
* * *
“We all have bad days, Marle,” Crono said soothingly. “And it wasn't a fair test. They deliberately wore you out before handing you a weapon you'd never used before. There's no winning a contest like that. Don't let it get you down, okay?”
The three time-travelers were back in their designated room in the rear area of Dormitory 7, Marle lying face-down on her enertron bed and wanting beyond anything to just curl up into a ball and disappear. It was the fate that suited her best after what happened today. How could she dare show her face in the enclave proper ever again?
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” Marle muttered miserably into the bed's padding. She appreciated Crono's concern, but nothing he could say could make things better at this point. He had warned her about the dangers of expecting good results with a weapon she'd never trained with, and she'd brushed aside his warning like she was Creation's gift to all marksmen. That last certainly wasn't true anymore. Five shots total she had fired from the enclave's plasma rifle, and all of them had missed their targets completely. All! That had never happened to her before, not even when she had been a complete novice playing casually in the Guardia Castle armory as a little girl. It was a performance that defied belief. She had been too good for too long to just choke like that, unfamiliar weapon or not.
“Well, as a constructive critique, I think the shot speed was throwing you off,” Lucca said with sympathy. “You were trying to adjust for ballistic drift with a weapon that doesn't really have any. Pointing directly at the target would have served you better in this case, but no one can blame you for not being accustomed to that. It would probably take months of practice for you to change those old habits. I know it would for me.”
Lucca's words barely registered. What mattered was that Marle had failed, and she would have to rethink all of her plans going forward. Where would she even start? It was hard to think when all she could dwell on was her own humiliation.
Marle sighed. “Can I go to bed now?”
“Already? It's still six hours until your scheduled session,” Lucca reminded her.
“Ask me if I care.”
“Well, I can talk to Amelia, try and switch out my hours for yours. I've got plenty of things to do on the computer, so I don't mind. But you know what a stickler she is for the rules. Two days in advance for all exchanges.”
“That's ridiculous!” Crono protested. “Marle needs the enertron now. And I don't see anyone else waiting to use it. Just start the session anyway, and we'll make the exchange ourselves without telling Amelia. No big deal.”
Lucca shook her head. “Won't work. All enertron activity is logged in the computer network. And you can't fool the machine into thinking one person is actually someone else. Everyone's DNA is distinctive. It can't be faked. Not once it's been already registered.”
Crono blinked, uncomprehending. “DNA?”
“Sorry. Call it a genetic imprint. The bottom line is that Amelia will know it was Marle using the enertron instead of me, and she'll make a stink about it. And Marle has broken so many regulations already that she could get in real trouble this time. I don't think we should risk that after what happened in the arm... well, you know.”
“Oh, forget it!” Marle said despairingly. “I'll just sleep on the floor. It's no less than I deserve.” Of course, Marle was certain she wouldn't be able to sleep at all without the enertron, given how she was feeling, but...
“Hey, I won't have you talking like that!” Crono said sternly. “What happened wasn't your fault. And who cares what Amelia thinks? All she cares about is her job.”
“Yeah, ain't that the tru...”
Lucca then started laughing all of a sudden, interrupting herself, and Marle lifted her head from the enertron bed wondering what had gotten into her.
“Yeah! That's it exactly!” Lucca said jubilantly. “I was looking at it from completely the wrong angle! We can fool Amelia easy.”
“How?” Crono asked. “You just said that DNA thing couldn't be faked.”
“It can't. But that has nothing to do with the actual schedule. Amelia writes that up on her own system. It's completely separate from the enertron itself.”
“You're saying Amelia's schedule can be faked? Changed to say something else?”
“That would never work,” Marle said. “Amelia knows exactly when my next session is supposed to be. She was lecturing me about it earlier today.”
Lucca's eyes twinkled behind her glasses. “Amelia's a bureaucrat. It doesn't matter what she knows, it only matters what's in her records. If the record conflicts with her own memory, she'll just assume she misremembered things and move on without a second thought. That girl has about as much imagination as a Heinchraw.”
“And you think you can change Amelia's records without her finding out?” Crono asked dubiously.
“Are you kidding? I probably know these systems now better than she does. There's a difference between knowing how to use something, and knowing how it actually works. Don't underestimate Lucca the Great!”
Marle felt a smile creep across her face for the first time since failing her Protectors trial. Just picturing Amelia's consternation the next time she looked at her records almost made this whole situation worth it.
“So how long do you want to sleep for?” Lucca asked her. “Just tell me and I'll make it happen. Within reason, of course.”
“Long enough to forget about things,” Marle said. “I don't think a regular session's going to cut it.”
“Six hours it is, then. Sweet dreams and bon appétit... you glutton.”
A moment later, the hatch of the enertron sealed itself against the machine, and Marle drifted off into a blessedly dreamless slumber.
* * *
The definition of a good teacher, Lucca decided, was someone you were always delighted to see when you were unexpectedly called into their office.
Lucca could count the number of people who had tried to teach her effectively on two hands. The number of people who actually did she could count on as many fingers: her mom, who had taught her how to read a couple of years before her tragic accident, and her dad, who had taught her everything else - once she had dedicated herself to the path of science. Lucca never expected to add a third finger to the list. Her parents had done enough to open the door of knowledge and coax her through it, and Lucca thereafter had been able to learn anything else worth knowing on her own. Such was the expectation, and the reality, until Lucca met the director of the human enclave of Bangor. The best teachers were the ones who knew things you didn't know that you didn't know and were freely willing to share them, and Frank Doan met that description better than even her dad could ever have hoped to. Doan's knowledge of science and technology was, if Lucca could pare it down to a single word, sublime. Such that if Lucca dared to share her knowledge of time-travel with him, Doan would not just absorb and understand the concepts involved almost immediately, he would also improve on what Lucca had already figured out and start teaching her the subject she had only recently pioneered herself.
His was a spirit akin to her famous grandfather, Alistair Ashtear, a man that Lucca had barely gotten to know as a child, and who would never live to see just how prodigious his granddaughter would become. Like Director Doan, Alistair knew things nobody knew that they didn't know, and he had used his stupendous intellectual gifts to change the world forever. Meeting Frank was almost like going back in time to meet Grandpa Alistair.
In another era, Lucca thought, Director Doan would almost certainly be another such world-changing individual, but the whims of history had relegated him to a post of heartbreaking obscurity instead. Still, his gifts were not going completely to waste, and Lucca was determined to learn everything she could from him while their historical paths intersected.
Now, Lucca was admiring the threadbare efficiency of Doan's office, a far cry from her own “office” back home, which could only charitably be called a bedroom, such was its clutter. It was all too easy to get disorganized when your mind was running at a million miles an hour trying to make new scientific discoveries and putting them into action, but Doan somehow utilized his own gifts cleanly and left nothing that could be trampled on or lost. A few viewscreens depicting various real-time images of certain areas of the enclave ringed the walls, and there were very few other accouterments of note. The owner of the space leaned pleasantly towards Lucca across a modest dust-free desk upon which rested a single integrated computer terminal that sat off to one side.
“Thank you for coming so promptly, Miss Lucca,” Director Doan began in his typically polite fashion. “For a moment, I was afraid that I had caught you rejuvenating in the enertron, as I'd momentarily forgotten when you were scheduled to rest today. But there seems to have been a... change in the scheduling. I do hope Miss Marle is resting comfortably in your stead?”
Lucca froze. Was it possible that he knew already? She thought she had covered her tracks well enough, but then, that was just to hoodwink a certain junior assistant director who took her job too seriously, not the full-blown Director himself. Was he really keeping tabs on her that closely?
“She had a pretty rough day,” Lucca allowed.
“So I noticed. I was rather displeased by how Assistant Director Morris handled that whole situation in the armory. Whatever else Miss Marle may be, she is still a guest of the enclave, and her desire to join the Protectors was genuine enough to warrant proper training. I fear we have treated her poorly. Please extend my personal apologies to her, as well as my pledge that she will be permitted to re-take the Protector's trial if she chooses to.”
Lucca released the breath she didn't know she was holding and smiled at Doan's generosity. She really shouldn't have expected any less after his patient tutelage of her on the finer points of computer science over the past week.
“Thanks. I'll do that,” Lucca said gratefully, then found herself reddening at the whole affair. “Sorry about this. I don't mean to cause you any trouble, Frank.”
Doan's eyes glinted with amusement. “If you are referring to your rather clever subterfuge in Junior Assistant Director Evans' scheduling system, please don't apologize. I have contemplated that I may have promoted Miss Evans too quickly. There is more to a supervisory role than mere efficiency. One must be aware of the people around them and cater to their needs with empathy. It is a lesson she must take to heart if she expects people to respect her leadership.”
Lucca quirked her mouth. “I hope you're not offering me her job, because I don't want it.”
“Oh, no,” the Director chuckled. “That would be quite the waste of your talents. In fact, it is principally the matter of your talent that led to my summoning you just now. You have demonstrated sufficient knowledge of our systems and technology now to undertake a task I had hoped you would be able to manage from almost the first moment we met.”
Frank Doan's expression then turned very serious.
“The enclave has a problem, Lucca. One that could be qualified as an existential threat, both to Bangor and to the entirety of the human race.”
Lucca stared at him for a long moment, and her heart tingled with sudden dread. There was a certain... terror behind Doan's carefully crafted demeanor. It was almost too subtle to notice, but a good student always perceived things in their teachers that no one else would catch. Anything which terrified Frank Doan was a matter to be taken with the utmost seriousness.
“What's the problem?” she asked.
“The enertrons.”
Lucca sat back in her chair and felt her blood turn cold.
“As you know, our equipment is quite old,” Doan continued. “Most of it dates from before the Day of Fire, and our most recently built enertron has been confirmed to have been made almost forty years before that. Serving as a nearly total substitute for food was something these machines were never intended to do. Not on this scale, and not for so very long.”
“You think they're failing!”
Doan's face was even. “Perhaps they are. Perhaps they are merely showing their age. Or, perhaps...”
“...They already have?” Lucca finished breathlessly.
“There is sufficient evidence to say it could be so. I am old enough to have seen many generations of enertron users go about their lives. The process has been gradual enough to have been missed by most, but it is evident that every successive generation of enclave citizens have been less vigorous, less healthy, than the one that came before. And then there was the arrival of yourself, Mister Crono, and Miss Marle, who, it must be said, are demonstrably healthier than any man or woman has been in decades. And it is also evident, at least to me, that the three of you are quite new to enertron sustenance. This begs the question of where you could possibly be from that would enable you to survive so, but that is a matter for another time. What matters at this moment is that everything I have related to you suggests a serious issue with enertron sustenance. This must be investigated.”
Lucca took a lengthy interval to collect her wits and recall everything she had seen and witnessed in the few days she had been a guest of the Bangor enclave. There was much truth in what Director Doan was saying. She didn't have the benefit of experience or decades-worth of observations, but she had enough to make the same general hypothesis, now that Frank had alerted her to the problem. The enertrons were failing. Or worse.
Perhaps more seriously, Doan's analysis of Lucca, Crono, and Marle was leading him frightfully close to their origins as time-travelers. She was getting the distinct impression that Doan was being cagey and already knew, or suspected, more than he was saying on that particular question. That would make matters immeasurably more complicated if the enertron machines were, in fact, failing. No book Lucca had ever read provided any insight into how to solve the ethical dilemma that was rapidly developing around her. Without the enertrons, most of the enclave's population would be dead inside of a week. The food stores were simply too minuscule for the enclave to survive longer than that with 1,500 mouths to feed.
“What about the seeds?” Lucca asked desperately. “You told me the granary was fully stocked with almost every type of crop. Is it possible...?”
“It wouldn't be enough,” Doan said. “And that underscores humanity's most fundamental problem of the age: where to plant the seeds. The underground isn't large enough to sustain a crop that can feed everyone, even if we could get it to grow under such conditions. The operation would have to be moved to the surface, and that has long been an indefensible position against mutant attacks, to say nothing of the continual drought and the poor soil quality outside the dome. No enclave's attempt to create an agriculture program has ever succeeded. Not in three-hundred years. Our seed archive exists as a symbol of hope more than a practical solution to our problems, I am sad to say.”
Lucca sighed. The answer was about what she expected, but a drowning woman grasped for whatever she could find.
“What do you need me to do, then, Frank? I'd be happy to examine the enertrons, but I'm honestly not sure how much help I'd be. You know that technology a lot better than I do.”
“Perhaps. And I would be less than honest if I claimed that I didn't already have a suspicion of the scope and particulars of the problem. However, my position makes me and my Operators susceptible to a certain... bias. We all tend to approach a problem in the same way, you see, and my junior associates are loath to not follow the methods and lead of their superiors, even if it leads them to a false conclusion. A second opinion is needed, and for that second opinion to have value it must come from outside the enclave. For that reason I cannot share my full suspicions with you at this time, but invite you to deduce the truth of things yourself and then share them with me as you are able. It is not impossible you may come to a different conclusion than I, and we will then have to consider the merits of each. Solving the problem requires that we first correctly identify it.”
“Right,” Lucca nodded curtly. “You can count on me.”
“I know I can,” Doan said warmly. “You are an exceptional student, perhaps the best I have ever taught, yet you retain the flexibility of an independent mind. The enclave dearly needs that right now. But do not feel pressured to complete my request with undue haste. It is more important to be thorough than to be quick on this matter. I wish you luck with your investigation, Miss Lucca.”
Let's hope I don't need it, Lucca thought as she quickly strode out of Director Doan's office and began grappling with the problem in her head. She suspected the remaining pages of her diary would be filled very quickly.
* * *
The hatch of Marle's enertron was already open by the time she reluctantly returned to the realm of the conscious. She felt the bones in her spine crackle as she stretched her lithe form atop the gray upright-angled bed of the machine, but the sensation of early morning vigor and renewal gave no satisfaction. It took only a moment's reflection for Marle to remember why she was in the enertron again so soon after her previous marathon session, and she turned on her face and grabbed the less than comfortable padding in the manner of a teenager who was profoundly unhappy at the state of her life. Which meant hard. She wanted nothing better than to go back to bed again and let the hands of time tick by without her. But it had been six hours, and Marle doubted she would be able to fall asleep again on her own without something like the enertron to wash her worries away into a temporary oblivion.
Maybe it was time to wash them away in a more literal sense, Marle thought. She certainly needed a shower after her worthless exertions from yesterday. Push-ups! And for what? Just so she could make a fool of herself wielding a weapon she had no business touching? Marle pounded the enertron bed with her fist and turned around with a huff. A very cold shower was what she needed to distract herself from that disgraceful memory.
She then started as she finally noticed her empty crossbow bolt quiver hanging by its strap over the small computer screen that controlled the enertron. She didn't remember having put it there before she went to bed. Marle always kept her things together in the far corner of the room, well away from both enertrons so no one would trip over anything. Why was it here? Everything else was where it normally was, she saw.
Marle turned to the enertron opposite hers and saw the blue light of active use shining through the small window of the closed hatch. She shuffled over to the other machine and stood on her tiptoes to see Crono sleeping face-up inside. According to the computer screen of his capsule, Crono's rejuvenation session had started less than fifteen minutes ago. Had he put the quiver on Marle's machine just now? She wasn't sure how many minutes had passed between the end of her own session and the moment she had actually woken up, so maybe he had left it there, but why would he? The quiver wasn't really good for anything. Just a reminder that she had a useless weapon, as if she needed reminding.
A reminder...
Are you trying to tell me something, Crono?
Crono Lantree was a bonafide expert on the art of fighting, Marle knew. In the short time she had known him, Crono had demonstrated that he was not only strong and fast, but that he was always thinking. Always seeing the next move and being able to execute it flawlessly, taking advantage of his opponent's weakness and enhancing his own strengths for maximum benefit. He had used that talent to defeat Krawlie, and the mammoth Guardian machine. And he had correctly predicted the risks of Marle using a weapon she clearly wasn't proficient with, however similar it was as a ranged weapon. If she had used her own crossbow in the Protectors trial instead of the rifle, the results would surely have been very different, even with those pointless push-ups, but she couldn't use her crossbow because she didn't have any...
Marle started tittering in spite of herself. Her problem was a simple one, and Crono had pointed it out with an equally simple gesture from beyond the veil of his slumber. Stick with what you know, he was saying. She didn't need to train with a new weapon, she needed to rearm the one she already had.
It was something she hadn't even considered since her crossbow was so archaic by the standards of this era. Who needed a crossbow when there were rifles that could blow glassers in half with a single shot? Crossbow bolts weren't something that would be kept in a modern armory anyway. Those had been uncommon enough in her own time, with firearms supplanting everything and older weapons being relegated to the passions of hobbyists and extremely bored princesses. Where could she possibly find crossbow ammunition in a world that had absolutely no reason to have it?
She wouldn't, of course.
That meant it had to be made. The Makers!
Marle abandoned all thoughts of her cold shower and collected her belongings and rushed out of the room. She wasn't sure what asking for help from the Makers would entail, but it was the one shot she had at redeeming herself and she wasn't going to miss this one.
She came into the lobby of Dormitory 7 at a trot and abruptly slowed, realizing it was the middle of the night. More studious residents preferred this time to peruse the library computers along the walls due to the lack of other distractions, and Marle didn't want to disturb them unnecessarily. Only a few people were present.
Lucca was one of them.
Marle very nearly called out to her, since it was now time for Lucca to get in the enertron herself after having surreptitiously exchanged her sleep time for Marle's. But one look at Lucca's expression gave her pause. It wasn't unusual for Lucca to be absorbed in her work. Marle had seen her in that same chair, using that same computer, hour after repeated hour over the near week they had been in the enclave, when she wasn't off somewhere being tutored by Director Doan on the use of all of this crazy tech. But she seemed different this time. Felt different. Her magnified blue-eyed gaze bore into the computer screen as if a mortal enemy were staring back at her. Lucca barely even blinked. Only her hands moved as she manipulated the displayed “windows” to show her more information or close out information she no longer needed to see. Almost all of it appeared to be diagrams and formulas of some kind. Lucca muttered something Marle couldn't quite make out, then changed windows again to grumble at another set of diagrams and formulas. One of the pictures resembled an enertron machine. Lucca then reached for her diary and made some quick notations before resuming her computer work.
I've never seen her this focused. What is she working on?
Regardless, Marle decided that bothering her for any reason was probably a bad idea right now. Lucca already had a surplus of irritability where Marle was concerned due to her repeated demands for help with the computers during their first days here, and their differing views on addressing their time-traveling origins had done nothing to deflate the tension. Marle didn't want to test the temper that Lucca gamely kept a lid on most of the time over something as trivial as a bedtime reminder. Not when she was this preoccupied.
Hunger would remind her soon enough, Marle reflected. A bit of hunger was a fact of life for those who lived off of enertron machines, and that hunger began to hurt after so many hours away from the capsule. Marle quietly crept her way around the library and left Lucca to her work, leaving Dormitory 7 behind to focus on her own problem.
Marle attracted a fair number of glances as she wandered around the too-same passageways of dispiriting grey that seemed ubiquitous to this future era, embellished only by badly fading directional markers and those glowing rods of cool light that made everything feel unnatural and lifeless. When she'd first arrived at the enclave, those glances were entirely due to her extravagant clothing, jewelry, and comparatively healthy complexion, but there was little doubt now that those glances were either passively hostile or outright deriding. Yes, she had been demanding during her early days here, Marle had to admit, but that was hard to help when even the most elementary tasks required an understanding of technology she simply didn't have. She had become a beggar because she had no choice. Add to that the humiliation of yesterday's trial, and there probably wasn't a single person in the enclave who wouldn't look at her askance. Marle marched on, refusing to meet anyone's eyes until she found what she was looking for.
She made her way slowly to the opposite side of the enclave, not far from the seldom used entrance that Marle had passed through when she first came here. The entrance led directly into the sewers, being about three-quarters of a mile, as the crow flew, from the location of Krawlie's lair. It was widely considered too dangerous of a route for scouting parties to begin their sorties out of the enclave, and this was reflected by a couple of heavily-armed Protectors always being posted by the door to keep watch on things. Marle avoided the guards' notice and turned the corner to a stairway leading down. This was the lowest populated level of the enclave, the only one lower being where the granary and the classified computer database were housed. A short distance from the bottom of the stairs was the entryway to Common Area 3, the exclusive domain of the Maker-caste.
Marle looked around the expansive space and found her natural inclination towards excitement when she was visiting someplace new surge to the forefront of her bearing. Common Area 3 was nothing less than a full-blown factory. Industrial equipment of every size and shape dominated the space, and there was a good bit of activity even at this time of night. The enclave never had a shortage of things that needed to be repaired or modified. Stuff was breaking down all the time, and it was principally the Makers job to make sure the inevitable mechanical and electrical misfortunes of the enclave remained at a manageable level. They also manufactured the tools that the Operator-caste used to maintain the more advanced technology that only they knew how to handle, and the Protectors were entirely reliant on the Makers when they had a problem with their – Marle now realized were hard to use - weapons. The Makers were arguably the most important of the enclave's castes, as the entire underground society of Bangor would grind to an unceremonious, and deadly, halt without them.
It's so much bigger than the dormitories, Marle observed. Not to mention warm. She could feel the heat from the surrounding foundry alcoves press against her bare arms and shoulders, and everyone working around them seemed to be sweating profusely. She would definitely be needing that shower whenever she was done here. No matter. She would stay around as long as she needed to complete her task in the meantime. Maybe she would start with one of the smaller...
“Can I help you, guest?”
Marle turned with a start to see a surprisingly heavy-set woman looming over her holding a wrench. Her brow glistened with sweat, and her narrow eyes regarded Marle with, if not quite hostility, somewhat elevated indifference. Though she hadn't met the domineering woman in person, Marle immediately recognized her from computer images as Assistant Director Chieko Vals, the leader of the Maker-caste, and the enclave's third in command.
No way she wouldn't have heard about what happened in the armory, Marle thought glumly. Her all too brief excitement plummeted into a gutter of forlorn recrimination, and she fought to stay afloat in her self-made sea of censure.
“I need to have something made,” Marle said, putting on the bravest face she could. “I used up the last of my ammunition getting to Bangor. Can you make some that's compatible with this old crossbow?” She held up her weapon for Vals to see.
“No,” the Assistant Director said without deigning to even look at the crossbow.
Marle's face fell. “What? But I need...”
“I know what you need,” Vals said darkly. “I also don't care. Thanks to you, rifle #57 has to be overhauled. Full power discharges like the one you so foolishly unleashed causes considerable degradation of both the barrel and the capacitor. Or did you think you were shooting something fresh off the assembly line? It'll take no less than four days to repair, and I'm not about to put that job on hold just so you can play with your archaic toy.”
“So you won't help, then?” Marle said, dejected.
Vals gave her a withering look. “My people are very busy, Miss... Marle, is it? Generator three has a continual flutter. Water pump eight is shut down pending engine replacement. And the backup compressor for the granary is due for replacement as well. I shouldn't have to tell you what could happen if that last job isn't finished on time. The main compressor has no other back-up, and it's the single oldest piece of equipment in the whole enclave. You've caused us enough trouble by taking one of our rifles out of service. We don't have time to deal with any more of your nonsense.”
“But it's such an easy job!” Marle protested. “My crossbow is a heck of a lot older than that 'compressor' thing you're talking about. How hard can it be to...?”
“Enough!” Vals barked harshly. The Assistant Director gave a long huff through her nose and then directed a weary gaze at the floundering target of her ire. “Go talk to Mary, then. She just got back from an errand. She'll either help you or she won't. If she chooses not to, I'll expect you to leave. I won't tolerate any more distractions here. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to fabricate a new barrel for the rifle you trashed.”
Assistant Director Vals lumbered off without another word, and Marle shook herself to regain what little remained of her composure. Chieko Vals was a hard woman for a hard job, and speaking to her ever again was something Marle wouldn't contemplate lightly.
I guess I better go find this “Mary” she was taking about.
Marle strode through the Makers domain at a brisk pace, taking mind to stay out of the way of the caste's purposeful activity as much as possible. A few short queries directed her to an even more sweltering area far to the rear of Common Area 3. A large machine very similar to the power generator Marle remembered from the ZDF facility filled the space, and a diminutive passage branched off into near darkness just behind it. Marle had to crouch to make her way through the tiny corridor. The droning sound from the presumed generator machine was constant, and loud enough to cause her mild discomfort.
What is a Maker doing all the way back here? she wondered. There was no one else around, and it looked as though very few people ever came this way. The glow-bars were scant and much more widely spaced than she had seen anywhere else in the enclave, giving the place an eerie ambiance. The sound of the generator gradually receded as Marle continued her stooped passage, and the oppressive heat began to subside. Marle was beginning to wonder if Assistant Director Vals had simply lied to get rid of her.
She finally came out into a room that only seemed large because she had been stooped over for so long. In reality it wasn't much bigger than a closet. Various tools littered the space, and a couple of metal storage racks stood against one wall holding a multitude of objects Marle couldn't identify in the dim light. A drab mattress that looked very much like a discarded enertron bed lie forgotten on the floor and was covered in blankets. There was no sound aside from the now faint droning from the generator room. There were no other outlets, either.
Marle leaned back against the wall with a weary sigh. Vals had taken her for a ride all right, but she wasn't about to go back and give the AD a piece of her mind after the way she had been roasted over the events in the armory. This was just one more way that the enclave was punishing her for her behavior and poor judgment, she decided. What really hurt was that she knew she deserved it.
“Who's there?”
Marle was so startled by the sudden voice that she jumped back and then fell on her rear, her crossbow clattering to the floor. She thought the room was empty!
A shadow rose up from the old enertron bed, and the blankets were tossed aside to reveal the figure beneath them. A small person stood regarding Marle with mild consternation.
“What are you doing in my room?” the former shadow asked. “Can't you see I was trying to catch a nap? It's kinda late.”
Marle stared back at the individual in surprise. Not a small person. A child! A little girl!
“I'm sorry,” Marle stammered, clambering to her feet. “I didn't think anyone was actually back here.”
“What are you talking about?” the child asked. She looked to be maybe ten years old. “This has always been my space. Why would you be back here if you weren't looking for me? Everyone knows where I hide out.”
Marle shook her head. “Assistant Director Vals sent me. She said there was a Maker named Mary who might be able to take a job for me. But... I guess she lied.”
“Chieko didn't lie!” the little girl pouted. “I'm Mary! How could you not know who I...?” The red-haired child stepped closer. “Oh, wait! You're one of those three visitors who came here a few days ago, right? I should have known from your clothes. No one around here dresses like that.”
This was Mary?! A little girl was working as a Maker?
“Why are you here by yourself?” Marle asked with concern, momentarily forgetting why she was here. “Where are your parents?”
“Oh, they died. Muties got 'em.”
Marle shuddered. Not so much at the tragic revelation as the casual way the little girl had said it. Her parents must have been gone for a long time.
“You said you had a job for me?” Mary asked. “I just got done with one, but I guess I could take another. The adults don't really need me right now. They're all working on important stuff. Chieko said I'd just be in the way.”
Marle closed her eyes and again lamented the recent direction of her fortunes. How could she ask a little girl for help in the middle of the night? Would she really be forced to stoop so low? She had already been begging everyone else for help.
“I... don't want to be any trouble,” Marle said, deeply conflicted.
“It's no trouble!” Mary said with a touch of heat. “Just because I'm a kid doesn't mean I can't make stuff. And if you need something I can't make, I can find it! I'm always finding stuff for people.”
“I don't think you'll be able to find what I need,” Marle said reluctantly. “It's ammunition. For a weapon that isn't made anymore. That's what this is.”
Mary knelt down to examine Marle's crossbow with great interest.
“Oh, wow! Is that a crossbow? I've only seen one in pictures! That's super, super rare!”
Marle sniffed with amusement. “I suppose so.”
“You're right. I won't be finding stuff for this. It's gotta be custom made. That means the price is going up.”
Marle blinked. “Huh?”
Mary regarded her with a quizzical frown. “It's a one-of-a-kind weapon. The ammunition would be one-of-a-kind, too. I'd have to set up the foundry with a whole new pattern, and that's after I take all the measurements and find out what kind of scrap is best for the mould. Scrap is really expensive because it's so dangerous to get more. It's a really big job. And because it's a custom order and not an enclave assignment from Chieko, the price goes up even more. It's not every day I get a job like this one. It costs, and I don't work for free. How much of this ammunition do you want?”
An uneasy feeling was creeping into Marle's heart. “My quiver holds up to 35 bolts,” she said.
Mary's eyes widened. “That's a lot! Are you sure you can afford this? What do you have to trade for them? You're a visitor, so I know you can't have any credits.”
And now we get to it, Marle thought. The economy of the Bangor enclave was largely barter-based, though it did have a strange form of currency that existed solely in the computer systems that could be used to trade for certain goods and services. The problem for Marle was that non-citizens didn't have access to a credit balance, and she wouldn't know how to use it even if she had one. That left only barter, and that left Marle with some painful choices.
The bracelets, she decided. The golden bands that so well complimented her outfit were the most logical things for her to put up as trading stock. Gold had been a mainstay of value for pretty much all of recorded history, so Marle knew she could get a lot for them. More importantly, the bracelets didn't have so much sentimental value that she couldn't do without them. The fashion hit would hurt, no question, but Marle could endure it.
“How about this?” Marle asked, unclasping one of her bracelets and handing it to Mary.
The child looked at her as if she'd stated water was dry. “What about it? This isn't worth much.”
Marle froze. She couldn't have just heard that right.
“I couldn't even get 300 credits for this,” Mary said with a scowl. “Do you think I'm dumb or something?”
“It's gold!”
“Yeah, and gold is just melted down for circuits and stuff. We already got lots of that.”
This couldn't be happening, Marle thought. She didn't know the credit system well enough to know what 300 of them were truly worth, but it was apparently a pittance. Even if she put up every piece of gold she wore she wouldn't even get 1,500 for the set! This future was truly demented!
And that brought another question to mind.
“Uh... Mary? How much would you say this job is worth in credits?” Marle asked with trepidation.
The young Maker took a moment to think about it.
“Hm, depends on the scrap I use. But it wouldn't be less than 12,000.”
“Twelve-thousand?!”
Mary grimaced at Marle's outburst. “Why are you yelling at me? It's the job, I can't help it! I'd lose money if I asked for less than that.”
Marle found herself sliding down the wall, and her remaining jewelry tinkled as her bottom hit the floor. “How...? How could I possibly get that much?” she muttered faintly.
“Save money. It'll do ya good.”
“But... I don't know how to make any money!” Marle exclaimed with frustration. “I'm not even a citizen!”
“Well, what about that pendant you're wearing? I've never seen a jewel that big. Chieko could probably turn it into a really nice focusing lens for our energy guns That'd be worth something.”
Marle shook her head quickly. “Sorry. That's not for sale.” Sentimental value aside, there was no way of returning home without it.
Mary snorted derisively. “You're not very good at this. And I don't see you carrying much else. What's in the satchel?”
“Um...”
Marle fingered the small satchel around her belt that held Queen Leene's music box. Could she really pawn that off? That had been a gift from Leene herself. Her physical twin. The music box meant almost as much to her as her pendant did.
What would Leene do?
With the utmost reluctance, Marle gently lifted the small music box out of its satchel and wound the key. She placed the box on one of the racks next to Mary and let the lullaby play.
Mary put her ear to the box in wonder and stood completely still as the song played. She turned to Marle with an expression of childish delight when the music came to a close.
“Oh, wow! We don't have anything like this! It has to be really old!”
“You have no idea,” Marle remarked.
Mary regarded the old music box with intense thought, her eyes shifting between cold appraisal and the undisguised avarice of a child in a toy shop. “I don't think I can sell this, but... I really want it! I'll give you, uh... 7,000 credit for it. That's towards the job. That makes my fee only 5,000. How's that sound?”
Marle's face scrunched in anguish. Little more than half the price in exchange for something she truly cherished, and she had nothing else to bargain with. Adding her bracelets to the mix wouldn't be nearly enough to cover the balance.
“Hey, don't cry!” Mary said with concern. “That price is for 35 bolts. If you can't afford an extra 5,000 credits, why don't we reduce the order to 20 bolts instead and we can call it even? I don't want to lose this deal!”
The despair that nearly consumed Marle at that moment abruptly vanished, and she gazed at the ceiling feeling a bit foolish. Having her quiver fully stocked wasn't strictly necessary for what she needed to do, now that she really thought about it.
Still, giving away Leene's music box in exchange for having her weapon back would leave an open wound. But she had no other options. Marle reverently picked up the cherished gift from the shelf and then placed it into Mary's eager hands, her lips quivering with emotion.
“Okay, Mary,” Marle said in a husky tone. “You've got a deal.”
Mary bounded on the balls of her feet in evident excitement, looking every bit the ten-year-old she was. “Great! Let's go get started, then,” she said. “And don't worry about the music box. I promise I'll never sell it, and you can come by and listen to it any time you want!”
The bargain struck, Mary stowed the precious artifact among the numerous odds and ends on her storage racks and then led Marle back through the diminutive passage from her modest hideaway towards the much warmer sections of Common Area 3.
“I haven't seen any other children among the residents here,” Marle said, deciding to make some small talk with the girl she had just bargained with. “How many are there?”
“Oh, just me.”
Marle balked. “What? You mean you're all alone?”
“Yeah. But it's okay,” Mary said. “The other Makers all like me. They don't yell at me much. Just at each other. How old are you? You look younger than everyone else.”
“I'm sixteen. So are my friends Crono and Lucca.”
“Wow, that makes you guys younger than Junior Assistant Director Evans. She's twenty-two, I think. She's the next youngest person after me. It must be nice having friends your own age. Have you always been together?”
“Crono and Lucca have. They grew up in the same tow..., uh, place. I just sort of...” she tittered. “...stumbled into their path. And we've been more or less together ever since.”
“I haven't always lived in Bangor. I was born in Trann. My dad was a merchant that traveled between the enclaves. At least that's what everyone says. I'm too young to remember. 'Save money, it'll do ya good?' My dad used to say that. It was his motto. So saying it makes me feel closer to him, like he never died. What about your parents? Are they still alive?”
Marle halted her pace for a moment at the pull of painful memories. “My mom isn't,” she said softly. “She died when I was only six. My father, well...”
Mary turned to face her in the gloom of the small passage. “It's okay. You don't have to tell me. You must have a reason for coming all the way to Bangor.”
“Yeah.”
The conversation drifted off as Marle and Mary got closer to the generator room, where it was too hard to talk over the endless drone of whatever process the giant machine used to generate electrical power for the enclave. Marle closed her eyes against the brutal heat. The two then made their way through the fabrication section, where numerous Makers were currently putting together small parts and components for the enclave's many machines and other pieces of equipment. Marle thought she saw Chieko Vals over to one side and made sure she stayed well clear of her.
“I never told you my name,” Marle said. “It's Marle.”
“Limova is my last name,” Mary said. “But nobody calls me that. I think it's a grown-up thing, people calling each other by their last names. Do you have a last name?”
Marle colored. “Uh... Not really.”
“I guess that means you're not really a grown-up, then,” the young Maker teased. “That gives us something in common.”
More of Marle's titters followed the child Maker as she found herself back where she had started in this domain of the Maker-caste. The activity in the foundries hadn't lessened at all, and much of the equipment Marle could see was being used in furious purpose. The people all around were focused intently on their jobs and didn't pay Mary or Marle any mind.
It was amazing that a child could grow up and live in such an industrious environment, Marle thought. And Mary's confidence in her skills didn't feel at all forced or false, like she truly belonged here among the hard working adults and was happy for it. Yet Marle couldn't help but feel it was a tragic fate for a young girl so full of life.
“Is it hard being a Maker?” Marle asked.
“Sometimes,” Mary replied. “Mostly it's just a lot of running around looking for stuff. It's a lot more fun when I'm actually making things. Though it does get pretty hot in the foundries. And by the fabricators. And the generator, too. Actually, it's pretty hot all through here.”
“I noticed. Especially in the generator room. Is it always like this?”
“Yeah, everyone's always sweating. And we never have anything cool to drink, either. The water pipes all go behind our machines to help keep them from getting too hot, so the water coming out of the faucets is always warm. Sometimes people sneak off to the dormitories early to drink the cooler water there, but that makes Chieko really mad. Says it wastes too much time, and that the enertrons can cool people off during the juvee sessions, which everyone has to do anyway since there's no food.”
“But you weren't sleeping in an enertron back in your hideout,” Marle pointed out. “That's why I was so startled when you suddenly popped out of bed. I thought that everyone here slept in enertrons.”
“We do. But I don't really like the enertrons. I always feel a bit funny when I get out of one, like the machine's taken away a part of me I can never get back. That's why I only stay in them a short time and do the rest of my sleeping in my hideout. It doesn't get very hot back there. That's why I like it.”
Taking away a part of you, Marle thought. She couldn't remember feeling a similar sensation after her own sessions, though she didn't much care for the enertrons either. They were restful only in the moment, and never particularly energizing.
Mary and Marle strode up to one of the unoccupied foundry stations, and the young Maker opened a rust-colored door in a nearby cabinet to reveal a multitude of tools and protective gear inside. She drew out a measurement tape and motioned for Marle to place her crossbow on the table.
“Okay, lets see what kind of dimensions the crossbow can work with,” Mary said. “Then we'll talk about the kind of scrap we'll need to use to forge the new bolts.”
“Will they be harder than iron?” Marle wondered aloud.
Mary looked at her peculiarly. “Are you kidding?”
* * *
The cool water cascaded in rivers across Marle's skin, and her unbound hair lay satisfyingly plastered against her naked back. Being in Common Area 3 for the better part of the early morning was an experience marginally shy of being inside a volcano, and Mary had been generous in describing that section's faucets as merely “warm”. Becoming a Maker had never been high, or on, Marle's list of things she wanted to accomplish in the enclave, and after this morning she would add it to the list of things she actively wanted to avoid contemplating, though she had learned a few elementary aspects of how the Makers' equipment worked and how they tackled the art of repair and fabrication. But the toil and sweat had been worthwhile. Five shining crossbow bolts of forged steel now rested in her quiver, with the remaining fifteen bolts of her order expected to be completed before tonight.
It felt good to not be completely useless.
Mary had taken a break in order to have a scheduled three-hour enertron session, and Marle had taken the cue to refresh herself in a more pleasant fashion back in her own dormitory. The women's bathroom was happily empty of other souls, and Marle took advantage of the solitude by standing under the streaming water of the shower for a length of time that any other resident of the enclave would have considered indulgent in the extreme, despite the abundance of clean water and its continual recycling. Amelia Evans had given her several bothersome lectures on water conservation, another source of friction between Marle and the JAD.
Marle spent an additional five minutes letting the forceful spray engulf her face and contentedly slicking her golden hair back with her hands before grabbing her towels – tan, of course, like every other garment in the enclave – and exiting the shower stall with her body and hair fully wrapped in them. She regarded herself in the mirror and braved a smile. The face of Queen Leene was staring back at her. She had done good today. Perhaps, for the first time, she had demonstrated a level of generosity in keeping with her ancient ancestor. Mary Limova would be a good keeper for Leene's music box, cherishing it no less than Marle had for the short time it was in her possession. It would always be on her shelf, waiting to be played, every night or free moment to lull young Mary into contentment after a hard day of work.
Very hard.
The heat. The scrounging. The horse-trading. The endless sweat and toil. The eternal hunger, and a rest that took as much as it gave. Every day the same, and only a music box to numb the pain that Mary had to feel every moment of every hour deep inside. No father. No mother. No friends, and no sunshine to share with them. Only work. That was Mary Limova's future.
The tears came before Marle could stop them, and knowing she was alone in the bathroom persuaded her to just let go of her always fragile emotional balance and embrace the chaos.
“Mary...” she sobbed. “You deserve so much better than this.”
Marle fumbled for the faucet handles below the mirror and splashed water on her now burning face to relieve the sting.
Or tried to.
Ice cubes fell out of her hands instead.
Marle regarded the fragments of ice in the sink's basin with stunned bewilderment. What had just happened? Even the water in this part of the enclave wasn't that cold. In fact, ice was one of the rarest things to be seen in the enclave proper. Only the granary on the enclave's lowest level was kept cold enough to keep water frozen, and entry was highly restricted since that was where all of the enclave's food was kept, as well as the seed archive that was key to one day restoring the world's agriculture.
Turning the faucet on again revealed nothing but normal running water. Cool, but far from frozen.
Of course, frozen water would never have come out of the faucet to begin with, Marle thought. Nothing would have come out of it at all.
It wasn't the faucet, it was her!
Marle thought back to her desperate stand in the ruins of old Bangor; her, Crono, and Lucca holding back a wave of glasser mutants from behind a warped and failing door. That should have been the end of their adventures through time, as well as their lives, but it wasn't. For reasons that continued to elude her, Marle had channeled powerful elemental magic at the moment of catastrophe, encasing all of their attackers in frozen death before passing out. She didn't even think about it, as much as her addled memory could recall. Never called upon her usual concentration that channeled her restorative and energy-draining abilities. She just did it. No explanation at all.
But that wasn't wholly true. Indeed, she hadn't been thinking, but she was doing something else. Feeling. Feeling they were about to die. Feeling that everyone's deaths would be her fault. Feeling that she had lived almost her entire short and tragic life without any friends.
She had been in despair. Total and complete despair. Her spirit had broken.
And then her spirit had risen back with astonishing vengeance.
“How about you think all that stuff and then throw your hands around or something?” That was what Lucca had told her, facing the glassers above Krawlie's lair, but Marle had been utterly spent at that moment. Truly on her last legs and ounce of strength. Nothing had happened at all.
But something was happening now. She felt. She grieved. She lamented.
And she now had strength.
Marle turned on the faucet a third time, let the water spill into her waiting hands, and then instead of merely concentrating, she felt. Remembered how she felt when her mother died, when her father turned cold, when Crono had been sentenced to die, when everyone had been stranded in the future because of her. And she remembered Mary. All the misery and anguish she had ever felt was in the forefront of her memory as Marle looked at the cupped water in her hands.
It solidified into a wintry block.
Marle had just become a Maker.
