Page 20 of Under the Iron Sky

“Power.”

“It’s quite low. Should it be that low?”

“Are you going to ask questions the whole way there?” Soraya asked.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“If you’re going to shoot me again.”

Soraya suppressed a groan. In the spirit of honest and fresh starts, she’d come clean and told the bird how he’d come into this new life. Apparently, he wasn’t letting it go. “And again, I am so, so sorry.”

He gazed out the window, unmoved.

“But then I repaired you,” she said, and when the bird didn’t react, added rather sheepishly, “And replaced all your rusty hardware. And gave you lots of nice upgrades so you’re functioning better than any of the other familiars.” And almost every machine in the Vordellian arsenal—Soraya’s guilty conscience had truly run wild when making the repairs. It was one of the reasons she’d allowed the bird to be practically glued to her side since he’d woken up. The last thing she needed was Noreen seeing just how many invaluable parts she’d “wasted” bringing him back to life.

The bird hummed thoughtfully, then chirped once. Soraya chose to take it as a sign she was forgiven. Maybe. Hopefully.

She quickly changed the subject just in case she wasn’t. “Is there anything you do remember? Your name, maybe?”

“We do not have names. Only serial numbers.”

Not exactly true. Familiars got their names from their families, but seeing as he couldn’t remember his …

“What’s yours?”

“Serial number T.W. Batch 11 GS.”

“So, Twiigs, then?”

“Twiigs,” the bird repeated slowly, as if tasting how it sounded. “Yes. I like that.”

Soraya smiled. “Then Twiigs it is.”

Thankfully they reached their rendezvous before any of the new bolts in Twiigs’s head could come loose over the lack of fuel or perpetually dark sky.

Soraya landed the craft with the tap of a few dials, the glass canopy above her head slowly peeling back with a soft whir.

With her uniform jacket zipped up, she was completely covered to the base of her throat, but the frigid air was biting against her exposed face and hands. “Stay here.”

“Why bring me along if I cannot accompany you to the meeting?” Twiigs sounded genuinely annoyed.

“I did not bring you along. You are a stowaway who flew into my jet just before takeoff.”

Twiigs snapped his beak in annoyance. “So I cannot come?”

“No.”

He sighed loudly. “It’s just as well. I wouldn’t want to get shot again.”

Oh, he really wasn’t letting this go, was he?

“I suppose this is my lot in life,” he continued, rather melodramatically for an animal made of metal and wires. “Nothing more than a spare part. To wander the world in fear, never knowing when my usefulness might be at its end—”

“All right,” Soraya grumbled. “You can come, but you need to be quiet. And that’s the last time you can use that to guilt-trip me.”

Mission accomplished, the manipulator flew over to perch on her armored shoulder.