Waltana has had a few years to get used to the idea, by now. That first breakthrough, when she was frustrated with the old linear drill and rebuilt it into some sort of giant arm, seems so long ago. She was taken in hand by the Captain after that.

They treat her different after that. The city (it has no real name, it's just the city, our city, our secret haven) is deathfully afraid of the outside world. The Polar Lords and their raiding parties, the distant Baron and his tyranny, the specter of the Other, and of a thousand different things that stalk and lurk and seek and kill.

The city is secreted away from the sparks and the rest of the world. It's an especially remote area of an already hostile region. Aside from a few roving bands of simple-seeming 'tribesmen', pretending to be miserable primitive hunter-gatherers while actually serving as scouts, the city has no contact with the outside world. They mine what they must, and as little as possible, subsisting on the hot springs, recycling as much as they can, only digging for more iron to make more steel and machines sparingly.

Because Sparks are a force of death and disruption.

And she is one, now.

Her friends are pulled away from her by their parents when she tries to talk to them. Her mom doesn't seem to know what to do with her, and just asks her to obey the Captain, since he knows what's best.

...She's pretty sure the Captain is secretly a Spark or some sort, too. Or a construct? He's at least a hundred years old, and looks and moves like someone's middle-aged father, not an ancient relic. But that doesn't matter- She gets a workshop! Admittedly, with a careful watcher to make sure she doesn't feed into the mania, that she only makes things that the city needs in some way or another. She gets teaching, the old books that are so carefully copied and preserved, vague hints about the outside world to give her better ideas on what to construct. The Captain regularly checks on her- She's pretty sure she's watching her for signs of, what, a plot to take over the city? Or to run away?

She pushes away the rebellious thoughts. The city has been safe for over a century. Even if she doesn't agree with everything the Captain does, the heat rationing, the labor tax, it would be horrible to throw that away by trying to 'fix' things. So she doesn't. She upgrades the mining machines. She builds weapons, which are turned over and kept in a secret secure armory. She makes better coats and winter gear for the scouts, and devices that use the secret light in the air to communicate at long distances. She's loyal. She can prove herself useful and stable, and a boon to the city. They'll come to love her in time, right?

...There's a particularly bad snowstorm today. She loses track of the buried beacons pointing the way to the latest mining site, where she was headed. Her communication dissolves into sourceless static.

Stopping would be death, in this kind of weather. She keeps moving, the giant pads under her suit keeping her from falling into the snowdrifts and a steady dole of steam preventing the chill from reaching into her.

Waltana has had a few years to get used to the idea, by now. That first breakthrough, when she was frustrated with the old linear drill and rebuilt it into some sort of giant arm, seems so long ago. She was taken in hand by the Captain after that.

They treat her different after that. The city (it has no real name, it's just the city, our city, our secret haven) is deathfully afraid of the outside world. The Polar Lords and their raiding parties, the distant Baron and his tyranny, the specter of the Other, and of a thousand different things that stalk and lurk and seek and kill.

The city is secreted away from the sparks and the rest of the world. It's an especially remote area of an already hostile region. Aside from a few roving bands of simple-seeming 'tribesmen', pretending to be miserable primitive hunter-gatherers while actually serving as scouts, the city has no contact with the outside world. They mine what they must, and as little as possible, subsisting on the hot springs, recycling as much as they can, only digging for more iron to make more steel and machines sparingly.

Because Sparks are a force of death and disruption.

And she is one, now.

Her friends are pulled away from her by their parents when she tries to talk to them. Her mom doesn't seem to know what to do with her, and just asks her to obey the Captain, since he knows what's best.

...She's pretty sure the Captain is secretly a Spark or some sort, too. Or a construct? He's at least a hundred years old, and looks and moves like someone's middle-aged father, not an ancient relic. But that doesn't matter- She gets a workshop! Admittedly, with a careful watcher to make sure she doesn't feed into the mania, that she only makes things that the city needs in some way or another. She gets teaching, the old books that are so carefully copied and preserved, vague hints about the outside world to give her better ideas on what to construct. The Captain regularly checks on her- She's pretty sure she's watching her for signs of, what, a plot to take over the city? Or to run away?

She pushes away the rebellious thoughts. The city has been safe for over a century. Even if she doesn't agree with everything the Captain does, the heat rationing, the labor tax, it would be horrible to throw that away by trying to 'fix' things. So she doesn't. She upgrades the mining machines. She builds weapons, which are turned over and kept in a secret secure armory. She makes better coats and winter gear for the scouts, and devices that use the secret light in the air to communicate at long distances. She's loyal. She can prove herself useful and stable, and a boon to the city. They'll come to love her in time, right? They trust her a bit more now than before, since she's seemed so humble and steady compared to the wild tales of foreign Sparks... A draining performance she keeps up, because it would worry them if she was too happy undisciplined and uninhibited and chaotic.

...There's a particularly bad snowstorm today. She loses track of the buried beacons pointing the way to the latest mining site, where she was headed. Her communication dissolves into sourceless static.

Stopping would be death, in this kind of weather. She keeps moving, the giant pads under her suit keeping her from falling into the snowdrifts and a steady dole of steam preventing the chill from reaching into her.

Waltana has had a few years to get used to the idea, by now. That first breakthrough, when she was frustrated with the old linear drill and rebuilt it into some sort of giant arm, seems so long ago. She was taken in hand by the Captain after that.

They treat her different after that. The city (it has no real name, it's just the city, our city, our secret haven) is deathfully afraid of the outside world. The Polar Lords and their raiding parties, old Albia's titanic gaze, the distant Baron and his tyranny, the specter of the Other, and of a thousand different things that stalk and lurk and seek and kill.

The city is secreted away from the sparks and the rest of the world. It's an especially remote area of an already hostile region. Aside from a few roving bands of simple-seeming 'tribesmen', pretending to be miserable primitive hunter-gatherers while actually serving as scouts, the city has no contact with the outside world. They mine what they must, and as little as possible, subsisting on the hot springs, recycling as much as they can, only digging for more iron to make more steel and machines sparingly.

Because Sparks are a force of death and disruption.

And she is one, now.

Her friends are pulled away from her by their parents when she tries to talk to them. Her mom doesn't seem to know what to do with her, and just asks her to obey the Captain, since he knows what's best.

...She's pretty sure the Captain is secretly a Spark or some sort, too. Or a construct? He's at least a hundred years old, and looks and moves like someone's middle-aged father, not an ancient relic. But that doesn't matter- She gets a workshop! Admittedly, with a careful watcher to make sure she doesn't feed into the mania, that she only makes things that the city needs in some way or another. She gets teaching, the old books that are so carefully copied and preserved, vague hints about the outside world to give her better ideas on what to construct. The Captain regularly checks on her- She's pretty sure she's watching her for signs of, what, a plot to take over the city? Or to run away?

She pushes away the rebellious thoughts. The city has been safe for over a century. Even if she doesn't agree with everything the Captain does, the heat rationing, the labor tax, it would be horrible to throw that away by trying to 'fix' things. So she doesn't. She upgrades the mining machines. She builds weapons, which are turned over and kept in a secret secure armory. She makes better coats and winter gear for the scouts, and devices that use the secret light in the air to communicate at long distances. She's loyal. She can prove herself useful and stable, and a boon to the city. They'll come to love her in time, right? They trust her a bit more now than before, since she's seemed so humble and steady compared to the wild tales of foreign Sparks... A draining performance she keeps up, because it would worry them if she was too happy undisciplined and uninhibited and chaotic.

...There's a particularly bad snowstorm today. She loses track of the buried beacons pointing the way to the latest mining site, where she was headed. Her communication dissolves into sourceless static.

Stopping would be death, in this kind of weather. She keeps moving, the giant pads under her suit keeping her from falling into the snowdrifts and a steady dole of steam preventing the chill from reaching into her.