“Jakara.” I do not check to see if my quiet speech brings her attention. It is all I can do to concentrate enough to speak what is on my mind. But I trust that she is listening. “If I should collapse, make sure no one touches my person unless I am in danger of falling into the thermal vent. Have Grandy sent for immediately. And…you may administer any first aid should it be needed. But only you.” Just the thought of anyone else touching me is enough to make my gorge rise. I dislike the idea of even Jakara touching me, really, but I have known her long enough that it is at least not completely repugnant. Such was the trust my family has held for her that she was the only one allowed to even hold me as an infant other than my immediate family. It was one of the things he admitted to me once, shortly before his demise.

And even that singular thought is enough to send tears streaking down my cheeks as a sob clenches my chest in a steel vise. 

Dark. I miss him. So. Damn. Much.

Something within me snaps with almost a physical pang. And I can no longer hold back the anguish. At least I manage to not wail like a pitiful spawnling. But my shoulders still tighten and shudder as I vainly try to suppress the sobs that want to rip me in half. “Get out.” 

The words are apparently too soft for Jakara to make out. “Your pardon, sir?”

“OUT! Leave me alone! Get out of my head, and out of my sight, and out of danger! I cannot…” Words flee before the onslaught of emotion. I can only scream, a sound that gives vent to the pain and emptiness left within me. A second voice joins the first, then a third. The sounds are disjointed and disharmonic, little more than a cacophonous screeching. Which is exactly what I feel. Broken. Disillusioned. Alone. Lost. 

Mad.

All about me, the fragment phantoms begin to coalesce into a single figure. Threads pull together, weaving and looping about one another as they stitch together to unify. Until his memory stands before me and I gaze upon his hazy form through the watery streams pouring from my eyes to stain my shirt.

“Papa. Why? Why did you have to leave?” I hate how small my voice is. How small I feel. It is like I am five again instead of fifteen. “Why did the Dark need you to return? Could it not see that I need you here?” My reaching fingers pass through his hazy form and I choke on a sob as I grasp at the tatters of memory. “It hurts, Papa. Right here.” I barely feel the scrape of my finger scales as I clutch at my chest. “That place where you were is barren. How do I fill it again? When will I be whole again?”

The phantom, of course, has no answers. I see his smile waver, though whether it is due to the tears that occlude my sight or because of the ephemeral nature of the phantom is unknown. 

“I do not know if I can do it, Papa.” The words are quiet again, and now they drag from the depths of fear and insecurity that I never wanted to acknowledge. “I do not know if I can go on without you. You were…my everything. I trusted you, and you left. And I know you did not want to go, but you did. I am so lost, Papa. So lost…”

“Tarriq…” 

I think for an instant that the phantom has suddenly gained life and sentience. But a moment later, the hazy phantom dissolves to shreds around a living form. “Grandy? What…?”

He stops a mere step away. “I came to check on you.” His voice, while coarse, is gentle. “And perhaps, to lend you a fresh body to pull material from if you needed it. I won’t ask how you are, because I know you’re not okay. So instead, I’ll just ask how I can help you finish so you can rest.”

I am not really conscious of moving. One moment I am sniffling back the anguish, before finding myself sobbing into my grandsire’s chest in the next moment. Though I know the strength in his body is an illusion now, I find myself craving his embrace as a bastion against the agony piercing my heart. His aged fingers stroke my hair just as my sire once did. “It hurts so much, Grandy,” I sob. 

“I know.” His voice breaks, and he clears it so he can continue. “I know, bambino. And it’s hard to go on. We shouldn’t have had to bury him yet. But you know what the best cure for that pain is?”

Dark thoughts cross my mind as answers. Thoughts of joining my sire in the Welcoming Dark. Of ending my own pain for all time. But I will never willingly speak those thoughts aloud. Instead, I merely shake my head.

“Living, Tarriq.” Grandy sounds as though he is trying to convince both of us. “Continuing to live, and grow, and love. Remembering all the good times we had together and treasuring those memories. But also making new memories. Meeting new people and forging new bonds.” Grandy pulls back slightly so he can cup my tear streaked face in his hands, and I can see the tracks of his own sorrow tracing lines down his cheeks. “I know it hurts, bambino. But that’s how you know you loved him. And that he loved you." 

"How do I go on, Grandy?" My voice crackles with emotion as I blink rapidly to clear away the moisture clouding my vision. "I know in my head what needs to be done. But my heart…" I have to pause to breathe past the grief. "My heart is gone. There is naught but a hole. The Dark tries to fill it, but even that presence is not enough. The ties I had with him are severed, the ends gouging deep as they snapped. I felt it, Grandy. It hurt just as much as the broken bones."

He is silent, though I read his own anguish clearly enough. Both his face and his landscape speak to the depth of his sorrow. "We both have to figure that out," Grandy replies at length. "But one way to do that is to finish this job. He loved this work as much as you do. And though I never had the same relationship with these machines as either of you, I loved this job, too. These people and this machinery were things I devoted my life to. And I'm proud of you, bambino, for stepping into this role. It's in your blood to love this as much as it was in your father's, because both of you got that from me. So that's where you start. Build something he would be proud of, as a tribute and a legacy to his memory. Make this generator purr again."

Though I sniffle, I also nod. I can do that. It is what I have been doing already. "Three sides of the scaffold are complete," I report, words wavering, and I see a tentative smile touch Grandy's lips. It bolsters me to see. "Once the technicians are rested a bit more, we will install the main drive and I will launch immediately into building the fourth side. Will you stay, Grandy? Will you watch me build?"

"I will, Tarriq." His promise lifts my spirits just a bit. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll help give you something to work with. I think that would be the best tribute I can give to your papa’s memory, really: if I could contribute to the things you’re building here. Will you allow me that?”

“Of course, Grandy.” I do not even have to consider it. “But you should not work the lift chains. I would be very upset if anything happened to you. Please. Just be here. Do not try to work. And if anyone has issue with it, I will fire them. I can do that now.”

That makes Grandy chuckle just a bit. “Alright, bambino. I’ll stay off the duty lines.” Grandy releases my face and starts to step away, but I sweep him into another hug. A slight huff of air from him reminds me to be a little more gentle, though it is difficult. My emotions are all over the place right now. “It’s okay, Tarriq. I’m not going anywhere.” His rough fingers stroke my hair, making me realize that I have latched onto him with a deep seated fear that he will disappear from my life as well. 

I struggle with myself to release Grandy. And I think he senses that, as he remains stroking my hair gently until I pry my fingers out of the balled up fists that I have tangled into the back of his shirt. 

"I need my safety harness." My voice, when I speak next, is raspy with emotion. "Everyone who is not me needs a respirator, as we need to pull the vent covers to stand up the main rotor. I will need a tether line to clip into, anchored to…" I pause. What do I wish to be secured to, in case I lose my balance while peering into the open maw of the thermal vent? As exhausted as I am, falling in is a very real threat right now. It is usually not a concern so there are no convenient anchor points in the generator room. 

"Perhaps one of the casing support pylons, bambino?" Grandy is kind with his suggestion, as though he understands just how brittle my temper is right now. 

I nod. "Yes. That will suffice. Where is Jakara? We need to resume the build." 

"I'll find her for you, Tarriq." He is patient with me, and I am grateful for that. My volatility is worse than usual. In the wake of my emotional drain, I can feel the madness trying to fill the gaping emptiness within. 

I begin pacing while he is away. There is an itch, a need to be in motion, that manifests. My feet take me in an orbit around the thermal vent, walking widdershins beside the cowling and chirping to myself with each rhythmic step. Grandy and Jakara do not try and stop me when they return. Rather, I tug my safety harness from Jakara's hands as I pass on my circuit. 

"Three teams on lift," I order without pausing. Jakara follows me as I walk. "The fourth on control chains, evenly spaced. It is imperative that the drive shaft does not swing out of control. I will direct placement. Once the shaft is seated, the control teams should head up into the walks as I will immediately begin constructing the fourth scaffold. No one returns from meal without a respirator. Bring one for Grandy, as well; he will be remaining. But do not allow him to exert himself! We will not break again until I finish the scaffolding and the vent covers are once more in place. I know the teams are tired, so make sure everyone self monitors closely for fatigue. Grandy, you know the signs as well so I would ask you to aid in this." I cannot order my grandsire as I would one of my technicians, but if he is to be here, then I can at least request he monitor.

"Understood, sir." Jakara is a steady, dependable presence. 

I only remember that we already discussed all this previously as I am stepping into my safety harness. It brings a scowl to my face, that I am repeating myself unnecessarily. 

“Tarriq? May I aid you in tying in while Jakara gets the technicians into respirators and assembled?” Grandy’s voice interrupts my irritation. I give my head a small shake, refocussing, then look to my grandsire and nod affirmative. “Kara?” It is all he has to say. Jakara offers him a salute of closed fist to her chest before wordlessly getting about her business. 

A part of me feels envy. My lead technician is more loyal to my retired grandsire than to myself. But it is only a brief flash. They have known one another for longer than I have been alive. Longer than my sire was alive, even. Grandy and Jakara were both in the Ranger Corp. For a time, they were even in the same squad. It was my grandsire’s job to keep his team safe, and so Jakara learned to trust him implicitly. Grandy was the first to make the shift to IO once the Rangers began to scale back operations and continued to look after his teammates even then, making certain that as many of his fellows as wanted had a position alongside him. Though most have since retired, the lead positions within IO are still held mostly by former Rangers and another dozen or so still remain employed here as rank and file. 

They were the liaisons. IO was perfect for them, because they were the only ones who knew the truth behind the life support technology. But they are aging. Retiring. And IO is forgetting who it is that makes life possible here in Londinium. 

Fewer Denzai visit the stations every week. They can no longer be guaranteed safety. Grandy is retired, and my sire is gone. They are my People, but I have a tenuous link to them at best. I am either feared or dismissed by them. Either way, they do not trust me enough to find a place in IO. Soon, I will be truly alone here.

“Tarriq?” But I am not alone yet. I turn to Grandy, fighting off the exhaustion. Fighting to remember that I have a place here. To remember that I, of anyone, belong here. “Here, bambino. Let me secure your safety line.” He shows me the line, recognizing that I am having trouble processing his speech. I merely nod. “Hands out to your sides.” I obey automatically and Grandy secures the rope to my harness. Idly, I note that he also checks to make sure I put the harness on correctly. 

"Grandy?" He gives me a brief grunt to acknowledge. "Please stay back from the vent. Even with a respirator, I could not bear it if you were too close." 

I think he understands the deeper meaning behind my words. That I could not bear it if his accident were repeated. If he were to become even more incapacitated. That I would be devastated if he left, too. My fragile sanity could not handle more loss. 

I can see the understanding in his eyes as he nods at me. "Of course, bambino," is all he says, though. 

When the technicians begin to file back in, I am still standing at the very edge of the vent cowling. They are issued a respirator as they enter the room. Grandy and Jakara are dispensing them and making sure that each technician dons it correctly before allowing them entry. I keep to myself and let them organize everything for now, as I can feel the constant pull of exhaustion trying to slow me down. As it is, I am humming to myself softly to try and keep my focus, while watching the technicians disperse across the room to their stations. They are tired, I note, but not overly so. A result of being on such frequent rotation for this repair. Usually they would have a full day to rest between shifts. But I need them here. I need whatever emotion I can stir from them at this point, because I absolutely cannot do this job alone. I would husk myself within minutes, even were I not already tired beyond what my body is capable of handling. Only the drive to see this rebuild complete is keeping me on my feet right now.

Once all technicians are present and accounted for, Jakara travels through the room to make certain all teams are on task. They have been setting up the lift chains and getting the clamps attached to the dynamo in preparation for this leg of the install. Three chains are needed for the lift and are fixed to the armature via clamps. The swing suppression is handled by another four lines affixed to the lower end of the shaft with heavy hemp lines. It sounds wasteful, but the lines cannot be safely removed once the drive is seated, as there are no walkways so deep within the thermal vent. So they are designed to burn away once the shaft is secured in its cradle. 

“Hatch secured!” The call comes from the doorway. We are now locked into this room. It is the only way to be certain that the toxic fumes from the thermal vent do not escape out into the sub-city. “Clear to pull covers!”