Otts and Ynés in the Carnival of Reason

IV. The Workshop

Otts knew that mekanikos existed, of course. But it was always through second-hand accounts: daguerreotypes, schoolyard tales, news reports in the broadsheets, and foreboding warnings by harried governesses ("You watch out when you play in the calle or the mekanikos will get you!") So he did his best to keep an open mind as Ynés lead him to the makeshift workshop at the edge of the Fairgrounds.

Ynés gave a quick salute to the copper golem standing guard at the entrance to the studio. "Good tidings, Mang G!" she said, and he nodded quietly in response.

The studio looked almost exactly how Otts imagined it would. A mess of coiled wires snaked across the work-floor. Pistons hissed and cogs whirred in automated glory. Prototypes rested on the countertops: a portable kinetogram, some kind of mobile astrolabe, what appeared to be a handheld phonograph.

At the center of it all, bathed in the glow of the central skylight, was the real piece de resistance: the Quicksilver Mark I. The local scribes had made plenty of fuss about the first self-driving carriage to be produced in Maharlika.

"Hold still, will you!" Ynés commanded, wrapping a bandage around his upper limb, "Just focus on the carriage or something."

Unlike many of his more gear-headed peers, Otts knew very little about engineering, let alone the complex machinery that went into building a driverless carriage. He stared dumbfounded at the Quicksilver while Ynés dabbed ointment on his bruised arms. That's when he noticed the cord running from the motor, up towards a lightning rod mounted on the skylight.

"So this thing, it's not really fully autonomous, is it?" he asked, "At least not the way the broadsheets make it out to be."

Ynés kept quiet for a few moments, as if considering her response. "Well, I guess it depends on how you define 'autonomous'," she said, "It all comes down to faith, really."

What a curious thing to say! She must have noticed Otts' quizzical look.

"It's like this... When you get one of those fancy semi-autonomous carriages from Nippon, it's powered by a tiny sliver of the essence of Amaterasu." She balled her fist, waving only her pinky finger, as if to show just how miniscule it is. "Sure, that's technically infinite. It's divine, after all. But it's still an infinitesimal part of the entire god-works."

"Okay, so what does that mean when you use it?"

"It keeps the engine running but it still needs a person at the helm to steer and navigate," she explained, "A basic drawback of mass production, I guess."

"Meanwhile, your carriage...?"

"When it's done, the Quicksilver will be fully bonded with a lightning elemental." She almost sounded amazed by the studio's own handiwork. "The anino will function like a dedicated built-in pilot. It will know exactly when to brake, when to turn, the best moment to accelerate or slow down."

"But... isn't that practically enslaving it?"

Ynés nearly gasped at the question. "Of course not! All the contracts are pre-arranged. It knows exactly what it's getting itself into. It's absolutely willing to become one with the carriage. Isn't that right, Q?"

The carriage's headlamps seemed to flicker in response.

"You mean it's... It's already in there?"

"Not all of it. But enough to follow our conversation."

All his life, Otts had been taught that mekanikos were a kind of aberration: heathen scholars who put magick at the service of reason, instead of the other way around. Their strange ways could be tolerated only because they produce objects of such wondrous utility. But almost everything about Ynés just felt right.

"Wait... So how can you possibly build more of them?"

"Well, the short answer is: we can't. That would mean cutting a deal with a new anino for each car," she said matter-of-factly, "Until we can do that, these babies are... what's that word again?"

"Artisanal?"

"Oh, right... Bespoke," she said, "Custom orders only."

"I don't suppose we could take it out for a ride?"

"Absolutely not!" For the first time, Ynés actually looked vulnerable, her usual candor giving way to genuine fear. "The Maestro would literally flog me if I ever did something like that."

"It seems only fair you get to test drive it," he said, "I mean, it can't be easy channeling an anino into a landcraft!"

"You must be joking! The Maestro would never trust an apprentice with duty like that!" she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "I just help to build the mechanicals: chassis, axles, gearboxes... the boring stuff. But he takes care of all the god-smithing himself."

"Well, I just think you probably don't get enough credit for what you do."

"Oh, the job has its perks," she said, snapping her fingers. On command, a self-driving bicycle emerged from under its draping at the far end of the room.

"I know it's not quite the Quicksilver but it's a pretty sweet ride," she beamed, "This one, I built all by myself."

The velocipede had a sidecar with an extra wheel attached – for transporting supplies, by the look of it. With Otts' slim frame, he could probably sit comfortably in the cargo box.

"Well, come on 'en... Get in! Let's find ourselves something to munch on, shall we?"