“That’s it, little machine. There you are.”

Vic stared at the tiny mechanical creature on the workbench in front of her, concentrating hard as she tinkered with the small gears. She had been working on the project for days, a distraction from her father’s anxiousness and her own excitement. Word still had not come of the news they have been waiting years to hear. Vic did not have the patience for such things.

Her cat, Gear, lay on the workbench beside her, watching with fascination as the butterfly wings flapped with the movement of the cogs. The soft grind of his own gears, those that made up his hind quarters, filled the small workroom. Vic had found him as a kitten, brutally beaten by some miscreants who had run the moment she had stormed into the alley. Steam had risen behind her, lending to the demon image they no doubt pegged her with. It added to the terrifying sight she had surely made, a woman dressed in trousers and a tunic, a pair of spectacle goggles on her head, grease smeared across her face. The puffs of steam that regularly came from her leg certainly helped. Vic was an odd woman for her time, raised around machines and preferring them to the boring social nuances of other human beings. Gear had become her companion after she had nursed him back to health. His hind legs had been mangled beyond repair, so she had built him new ones. The fact that they both had prosthetic limbs drew them closer, similarities and all that.

Gear purred when Vic reached over and scratched him under the chin, happy to steal some of her affection from the machine sitting under the magnifying glass. The newest tinker was a machine smaller than Vic had yet accomplished, a mechanical butterfly. As she wound the gears tight and leaned back, she held her breath expectantly. The tiny, stained glass wings began to flap, gently at first before speeding up as the apparatus began to run.

“We did it, Gear!” Vic exclaimed, lifting her goggles onto her forehead.

She pushed the magnifying glass out of the way and watched in excitement as the butterfly’s wings flapped faster before rising into the air, the wings mimicking those of the real insects. The wings had taken some ingenuity. At first, she tried a fine layer of silk but found they were too porous. Eventually, she had found her answer in a micro-thin layer of stained glass. The result was a dazzling display of multicolored beauty, closer to a butterfly than she could have ever hoped.

Gear sat up and watched, enraptured with the moving parts. The butterfly took off into the air, and Vic clapped happily. The tiny machine fluttered around the room, sending glittering colors around the walls when they caught the light. It moved closer to Gear, clicking, teasing. Gear’s tail whipped from side to side as he glared at the offending thing, agitated instantly at its incessant fluttering. Before Vic had enough time to truly celebrate the tinkering feat she had pulled off, Gear reached out his paw and batted the machine from the air. It immediately stopped fluttering and fell straight to the floor with a tiny clank.

“Oh no! Gear, what have you done?” Vic chided, squatting down and scooping up the butterfly. One wing tried to move again, but some of the pieces in the mechanisms were bent at wrong angles. She sighed, placing it back on the workbench. “Naughty Kitty.” Gear just meowed in pride before laying back down, keeping a close eye on the machine in case it took off again. “This is going to take ages to repair.”

Vic was just beginning to straighten out one of the cogs, the smell of grease and lubricant strong in her nose, when the door to her workshop burst open, startling her and making her drop the tool she had been holding. Her father rushed into the shop, tension across his shoulders. At first, she thought he might be upset or angry with something she had done or forgotten to do, so she immediately attempted to smooth things over.

“Father, I haven’t been in here that long, I swear.”

He waved her words away, a bright smile crossing his face.

“Both you and I know that you have been in this workshop since the moment you rose this morning, but that is not why I am here.”

“It’s not?” Vic asked dubiously. Her father was constantly trying to convince her to mingle with other people. He thought it was good for her social skills, and though he was not adamant that she act like a lady, he wanted her to have every opportunity if she so chose. In reality, social events made her feel like a bumbling fool when the other ladies looked down their noses at her, commenting on the state of her hair or her lack of petticoat. Dresses were not a favorite of hers, and so each moment wearing one made her feel terribly uncomfortable. The men were worse, coming up and asking her to dance every five minutes. She wanted to have a conversation, not waltz and listen to the men drone on and on about their accomplishments or assets. She particularly did not like having her feet stepped on. A lot of men were terrible dancers. One day, Vic hoped she could tell a man about her accomplishments, and he would actually listen with interest. Alas, she seemed doomed to end up a spinster. She did not mind so much. She would always have her machines. But her father would think it his fault if she did not join society as their station dictated, being the child of Lady Jenica. He had felt guilty a lot since her mother died, as if he was failing to give her the opportunities their station afforded them.

“No, my dear! I have received a letter!”

“A letter from who?” she asked, her own excitement growing with the obvious emotion leaking from her father.

“The High Council of Sciences and Exploration!”

Vic jumped from her seat,

“Well? What does it say?” She held her breath.

Her father stood there for a moment, letting the anticipation grow before he finally spoke.

“We have been fully funded!”

“No!” Vic laughed. “You are jesting.”

“I swear it! Read for yourself.” Her father passed the letter into her hands, and she scanned the document.

“That is the Queen’s seal,” she whispered.

“That it is.”

“What does this all mean then? You are leaving?”

Vic was sad she would not get to see her father, but this had been his dream since she could remember. He had been fighting his entire life to get funding for an expedition to the Amazon rainforests where there were legends of a temple, the Temple of the Rising Sun. Those legends spoke of a great fire opal protected inside, potent enough to act as a power source capable of fueling dozens of cities at once. This was her father’s moment, his dream come true. She would not hold him back.

“This means we are both leaving.”

“Have you gone mad?” Vic asked, staring at him in confusion. “Would I not be in the way?”

“On the contrary, I have been tasked with picking the crew for the journey. I am in need of a Master Tinker, if you are interested.”

“If I am interested?” Vic wrinkled her brow. “Of course, I am interested! When do we leave? What do I need? How long is the trip?”

“Patience, my dear. All in due time. For now, let us celebrate!” Vic could not stop the excitement that coursed through her body. She jumped up and down as her father offered his elbow. Her leg hissed and clinked at the pressure, the shocks absorbing the impact. She scratched Gear under his chin one more time, dropped some food in his half empty bowl, and looped her arm through her father’s.

“Let us make haste,” her father told her. “I have a lot of work to do.”