One of the more unique aspects of Inapithe is the way that it integrated itself with its surroundings. While other city-states kept careful control of their expansion or demolished still-standing structures in favor of their own infrastructure, the government of Inapithe chose to repurpose the buildings damaged and abandoned in the Retributive War. I posit that this assimilation contributed to Inapithe's reputation as a cultural melting pot.

– Richard Cambiot, The Influence of Inapithe on Modern Art

“Quit your whining, we're here.”

Astrid takes a long moment to listen to the lap of waves on concrete and assess what she is looking at before responding. “Are you sure, Pell? Are you absolutely sure that this is where we're supposed to be?”

“Don't sass me; I know this city like the back of my hand. Pun not intended.”

“Pell, this is a turret.”

The two of them are, indeed, standing in front of an old turret, which sits at the edge of a small inlet. The turret has a squat, rectangular base, upon which is mounted an enormous cannon, several stories in height, which is pointed out into the sea. The turgid, brackish water laps at the edges of the base, producing a steady, rhythmic smacking sound.

“We're on the edge of the city, Astrid,” Pell says, striding forward with an air of confidence that Astrid wishes she could emulate. “Most of the buildings here were reclaimed by urban explorers in the years following the Retributive War. People live in some odd buildings. Don't worry about it.”

Astrid follows her, each of her long steps easily matching three of Pell's short ones. She cannot help but look over her shoulder every few steps. This part of town is nearly deserted, which she appreciates, but the wide open streets crisscrossed with the shadows of power lines make her feel slightly on edge, as if they are walking into an ambush. “Call me crazy, Pell, but living inside a giant gun doesn't exactly strike me as normal. Why hasn't the government, I don't know, built new buildings?”

Pell sighs. “The government, as you call them, is a little different here than you're used to. They see it as a chance to extol the self-reliant and artistic virtues of our culture, or something like that. Bunch of bull, if you ask me. They just don't want to put any money into infrastructure. Frankly, I'm surprised it works as well as it does.”

Astrid can think of a dozen different issues with that system off the top of her head, but she pushes them aside for the moment, because the two of them have arrived at a small metal door set directly into the base of the turret. The nerves that she has been fighting off all day come roaring back, wrapping themselves around her lungs and strangling her.

“I don't know if I can do this, Pell,” she whispers.

“Yes, you can,” Pell shoots back. She links her arm with Astrid's, pinning her in place. “They'll like you, trust me. Especially once they see what you can do.” She raps on the door, sending a tinny booming noise reverberating through the turret. The sound of footsteps on metal echoes from within, slowly growing louder as their owner approaches the door.

“No, seriously, I—”

The rest of her protest is cut off when the door is thrown wide, and the woman within screams, “Ms. Erickson!” Pell's arm is wrenched out of Astrid's grip as the woman tackles Pell in a running hug, knocking her back a few steps with the force of her leap.

“I've told you a dozen times, just call me Pell,” Pell says grumpily, but with a definite hint of a smile in her voice. She squeezes the other woman and the two of them separate, both laughing.

The woman who embraced Pell looks to be about Astrid's age. Like Astrid, her hair is long, but is thick with bouncy, frizzy curls. She seems unable to keep completely still, and continuously bounces up and down on the balls of her feet as if in imitation of a boxer.

“Astrid, meet Sylva. She's been a client of mine for a while now. Sylva, this is Astrid. She and I grew up together, and she's the best mechanic I've ever met.”

“It's so awesome to meet you, Astrid!” Sylva rushes forward, neatly avoiding Astrid's outstretched hand to sweep her up in a hug. She is warm, and smells vaguely of baked goods. “Pell has told me so much about you!”

Astrid manages an affirmative grunt, and Pell laughs. “And with that, my job here is done. Come by for dinner later, okay Astrid?”

Astrid shoots Pell a look from around Sylva's shoulder. “You're not coming with?” she mouths incredulously. Pell smirks and waves, then sets off back down the street. Astrid glares at her back as she leaves. Typical.

“So,” Sylva says, releasing her. She bounces a few steps backward and puts her hands on her hips, still beaming. “Pell told me that you're looking for work?”

“Uh... yes?” Astrid hazards. She hopes that Sylva cannot see the way her legs are shaking. “I'm good with machines, I guess.”

“Awesome! That's exactly the kind of person we're looking for. Come on in.” She waves Astrid after her, and disappears inside the base of the turret. Astrid gulps, and after a moment's hesitation, follows.

The inside of the turret is much larger than Astrid expected. Although the base is divided up into separate rooms and hallways, the gun and structures mounted on the platform are almost entirely hollow. Instead of ceilings and conventional electric lighting, the rooms they pass through have nests of metal girders and I-beams, around which are wrapped strings of tiny, decorative lights. Overall, it feels much more lived-in than her own apartment.

The sound of Sylva asking a question drags Astrid back to reality. “I'm sorry, what?”

“I asked if you were new to Inapithe. Ms. Erickson, I mean Pell, said that you haven't been around here long.”

“Oh, yes,” Astrid says. “I only moved here a month ago.”

Sylva tosses a grin at her over her shoulder, as the two of them begin ascending a rickety staircase. “Nice! How do you like it so far?”

Astrid bites back her initial response of, “I don't,” and settles instead on, “Oh, you know. It's taking some time to adjust.”

“You should talk to Drew. I was born here, but he didn't move here until he was five. I know he had a tough time getting used to things.”

Astrid nods along, only half-listening. Sylva's voice is exceedingly loud, and is only magnified by the cavernous nature of the interior. It doesn't make her nervous, exactly, but it certainly sets her on edge, and reminds her of how much she doesn't want to be here.

Sylva stops in front of a plain door at the top of the stairs and pounds on it with her fist. “Drew! Your butt! Get it out here!”

“Go away, Sylva,” says a muffled voice from inside the room.

Sylva flashes an apologetic smile at Astrid, then returns to pounding on the door.“She got here early! We have to do the interview!”

The door opens while Astrid is halfway through apologizing for being early, revealing a bulky young man, wearing a rumpled set of clothes that were clearly thrown on within the last ten seconds. Despite having apparently just awoken, his dark eyes betray no drowsiness as he looks Astrid up and down.

Sylva hops behind Drew and slings an arm over his shoulder. “Astrid, this is Drew. He's our strategist, medic, and resident grouch.”

“Stop it, Sylva, you're embarrassing me,” Drew grumbles, extricating himself from her grip. His voice is far softer than Astrid expected from someone of his size. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Astrid.” He extends his hand to her, and Astrid takes it. His palms are rough, and covered in callouses, but his grip is surprisingly gentle. “Let's get this interview on the road.”

Astrid falls into step behind Drew and Sylva, who immediately begin bickering over the time that the interview was scheduled. For the first time, it occurs to her that she has absolutely no idea what sort of job she is interviewing for. All Pell had said was that they needed an engineer, but what sort of job could require an engineer, a strategist, and a medic? She wants to ask, but the idea of asking an unprompted question makes her queasy, and Drew and Sylva seem too busy arguing to take notice of her discomfort.

Drew and Sylva lead her back down to the ground level and into a large chamber, which Sylva introduces as a workshop. One of the walls is taken up by a segmented metal shutter, and the beams overhead have been cleared away, allowing the room to stretch to a dizzying height. The floor is carpeted in tools, discarded parts, and half-assembled contraptions Overall, the rooms looks for more akin to an enormous, unkempt garage than any sort of workshop.

It occurs to Astrid that it may have been a good idea to ask Pell about not only the nature of this particular position, but its legality as well.

“Please, forgive the mess,” Sylva says, nudging a tangle of copper tubing out of their path. “Our last mechanic wasn't exactly known for his cleanliness.”

“Or competence,” Drew mutters, prompting a punch in the shoulder from Sylva.

Astrid allows herself to be led over to a very messy table, at the center of which sits an enormous contraption, consisting of what appears to be a motor, a fan, and an exhaust port that have been forcefully merged by way of being tossed into a bonfire. Just looking at it offends every one of Astrid's sensibilities as a mechanic.

“So in case you couldn't tell, we don't exactly have a formal process here,” Drew says. He and Sylva share a brief look. “Despite how much Sylva and I have pushed for one. So, we've come up with an alternative.” Drew slaps his hands on the unsettling amalgamation of parts in the center of the table, causing it to emit a visible cloud of soot. “Our last mechanic was, to put it bluntly, not cut out for the job. The work he produced failed in a critical moment, and the results were less than ideal.”

“What Drew is trying to say,” Sylva says, “Is that everything started on fire.”

“Well, yes. We couldn't recover much, but we did manage to discover that the fire started with this, right here. You figure out why this overheated, and you've got the job.”

Astrid blinks. “That's it?”

“That's it.”

“Nothing else?”

“We're on a tight deadline.”

[Continued in next episode, due to character limitations.]