Thursday, February 12

Belhaven is Burning

My brother's voice over the aether transmitter shook me out of my Spark fugue. I quickly turned off my welding torch and pulled off my mask. I dashed to the transmitter and pressed the trigger on the microphone.

"Count Marcus! This is Doctor Mason! How may I assist?"

I asked this question several times.

"Dammit, Marcus! Let me help you!" I shouted into my wireless console.

Every second of silent static felt like limitless sea of solitude.

"Negative, Doctor Mason. This is my realm."

"And I am your brother!"

My mechanical daughters huddled close to me, their glass eyes reflecting concern as I clenched the microphone in my glove with a death grip. Finally, a measured responce.

"Call for a rescue fleet for the refugees. Coordinate a landing space for Professor Bade's helicarrier."

"I can cast a summon..."

"Negative. The Hydra."

Yes, I knew his fate, and the world's safety for that matter, was bound to Belhaven by a mangled spell and a hastily improvised ward.

Regretfully I sent a final response, in Ereb'ai.

"Understood. May the Fates guide the safest path."

I looked down at Sasha, Becka and Spark. Their frocks were concealed by the laboratory robes I had sewn for them when they begged to assist me in the lab. I gazed back at the collection of brass and steel pieces lined up across my operating table.

"Girls? My brother needs a firefighter. Let's build one."

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