by Jeannie Lin
Every week, Hala and his crew rounded up and expelled people marked as undesirables. Half the village was either forcibly removed or pushed to leave on their own.
The workers at the factory compound became quieter, more guarded. They kept their heads down to avoid being singled out. Work in the Factories involved long hours and dangerous conditions, but no one wanted to become one of the disappeared.
“They’re just taken away,” Kai remarked in a hushed voice one day as we mixed a batch of ointments. “Where do they go?”
“I don’t know. No one knows,” I replied.
“It’s not right.” Kai glanced toward the door, assuring himself we were alone. “We may be peasants, but we have families. Our lives are worth something.”
Kai rarely voiced such an objection. Like me, he was practical by nature. When it came to dealing with imperial politics, it was best to observe and stay out of harm’s way.
“I’ll try to find out more,” I promised.
I had been trying to solve the mystery, but so far had little to show for it. It was a long way from where we were to the nearest village. Anyone transported to or from the Factories would need to go by river, but the waterway was too far away from the compound for me to track.
Before long, it was my turn to go before Hala. I was brought into a room without windows where I sat on a bare wooden bench across from the inspector. I folded my hands in my lap to keep them still while he asked about the accident, about the workers stationed closest to the explosion. What did I know about this person or that one?
“I only know what’s in the records. What afflictions they’ve been treated for. Any physical complaints,” I replied calmly, my gaze sliding over Little Guo’s name on the list.
He shocked me with his next statement.
“Your father is Jin Zhi-fu.”
I straightened and returned his steely look, saying nothing.
“He’s well-known,” Hala intoned.
Only someone with connections to the bureaucracy in Peking would know of my father.
“It’s surprising, given Jin Zhi-fu’s history, that his daughter would be approved for assignment at our most critical factory complex. And for one of Jin’s disciples to be promoted to Head Engineer.”
He flipped slowly through documents that I assumed contained more information about me and perhaps Chang-wei as well. I hadn’t realized I warranted such a thick stack of papers.
“You and Engineer Chen are acquaintances,” Hala said slowly.
“Yes.”
My heart thudded in my chest. It wasn’t a secret that we had come to the Factories together, but what was Hala trying to uncover?
“He’s Han,” he said. “And he’s spent several years with the Yingguoren.”
I was tempted to insist that Chang-wei hadn’t gone by choice. He’d been captured, but that knowledge might be seen as even more damaging.
“Engineer Chen has proven himself to the Emperor many times,” I protested.
“So, it seems.” The Inspector rifled through the papers in some thick report. “The two of you have made some advantageous connections. Your last appointment was to the Imperial Court of Physicians.”
I didn’t tell him I had been assigned to see to the well-being of the imperial concubines in the Emperor’s harem. I didn’t want to tell the inspector anything. When dealing with people like Hala, everything was cause for suspicion.
“It’s good to have associates,” he went on. “But one must be careful of who they call friend.”
I frowned at him, not comprehending.
“Do you know when the rebels took Nanking, they slaughtered the Manchu in the city? The garrison surrendered but were executed anyway. The women they burned alive. Tens of thousands.”
I paled. “Not every Han is a rebel—”
“Of course not,” Hala replied in clipped tones. “But every Han likely thinks of us as demons. They hate us, Miss Jin. As much, if not more, than they hate the foreign devils.”
I started to protest but bit back my reply. Give him nothing.
“Be careful, Jin Soling. Loyalty to your country must always come before personal friendships. If you see or hear anything, from anyone, you know your duty is to report it to me.”
I nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him.
“Yes, Inspector,” I said aloud. Only then was I allowed to leave.
I walked away from Hala’s office twice as quickly as I’d come, grateful to resume my rounds at the infirmary. I only wish the infirmary was farther away so I could put more distance between myself and the inspector’s paranoia.
Guo was one of the more serious injuries and he remained in the infirmary even though most of the other workers from Tai Shan had been released. I assumed the boy had had his own visit from Hala.
Guo was young and his body was healing well, but his manner was subdued as I tested his leg for responses. It was only after I’d set an array of needles around the knee joint that he spoke.
“It’s strange, I still feel my leg is there.”
“That’s common after losing a limb.” I focused on fixing an acupuncture needle into the meridian that ran along the upper thigh. “The nerves are still active.” I looked up at him between needles. “Does it hurt?”
“Not right now. The worst is the itching.”
“It will be another month before engineering can fit you for a mechanical leg.”
The Directory had approved for Guo’s procedure as well as his eventual return to the line. I’d submitted a recommendation on his behalf and had tried to write to Chang-wei as well, though I never knew if he’d received my communication. He’d been walled off in the Citadel for the last month.
“They say I’ll be able to control the leg like it’s my own,” he said.
“There will be needles, similar to these ones, to connect your pressure points.”
“The nerve impulses will be transmitted through the steel wires to the artificial joints,” he concluded. “The gears must be very intricate.”
“You seem very knowledgeable.”
He looked embarrassed. “Just a passing interest.”
“Did you work with machinery at home?” It occurred to me that this was the first time I’d been able to speak to Guo on his own, without Jiang hovering protectively nearby. Many of the workmen had adopted Guo as a younger brother, which was heartening to see.
“My family are but simple farmers,” Guo said before withdrawing.
He remained silent for the rest of our session while I set the rest of the needles. Stimulating the proper pulse points would aid in this recovery as well as treat the phantom pain.
I tried once more to engage in him conversation, but a wall had gone up around him. It was understandable. My father had lost his arm in a gunpowder experiment. Mother said he’d lost it when I was still very young, so I had no memory of my father without the steel replacement. Mother once told me how he’d suffered a period of grief after the accident.
“Your father didn’t seem like himself afterward,” she’d confided.
Sometimes Mother spoke of her life with my father as if it had happened to someone else, far away. Losing him had been worse for her than losing an arm or a leg. Her eyes had gone listless and void of light. She’d lost herself for a long time.
After an hour had gone by, I returned to remove the needles from Guo to return them to my case. I saw him watching out of the corner of his eye as I worked.
“I’ll be back to see how you’re recovering in a few days.”
He gave a small nod.
As I left, I resolved to find out more about Guo’s assignment at Tai Shan Facility. What had brought him so close to the blast? And why was his protector Jiang so intent on keeping the boy here, despite the seriousness of his injury?
I spent an hour searching the records room for information on Guo and Jiang. They had both arrived on the same transport and had been at Hubei for six months now.
The number of accidents
had increased within the last few months, but so had the production quotas. Before that, accidents had been uncommon.
The rest of the records had been requisitioned by Inspector Hala. I couldn’t ask for them without arousing suspicion, so I decided on a more direct approach.
Women were conscripted to work at the Factories as well as men, but their numbers were far smaller. Most of them were employed in a large workroom at the Song Shan facility. I stocked up my carrying case with common remedies and an assortment of herbs with both cooling and warming properties to balance yin and yang.
Unlike the general population, the women were much more familiar in how they addressed me. I was greeted by a chorus of voices the moment I entered the workroom.
“Yishi Jin!” they called. “Why has it been so long, Jie-jie?”
Some of them were younger than I was, though most were older. Every one of them referred to me as an elder sister out of respect and, as one girl had told me, I carried myself as someone who had seen something of the world.
The girl was trying to be kind. She’d come from a region where women only bound their feet until they were married. With my natural feet and non-pleasing disposition, she of course assumed I was old and unsuitable for marriage.
The women sat in rows before contraptions that looked like textile looms. Instead of thread, the machines were loaded with an array of copper wire stretched taut over the rollers.
The workers were tasked with weaving the wires into a specific pattern over steel plates. Chang-wei had explained to me that the different pathways would determine the machine’s actions.
It reminded me of the story he’d told of the artificer, Yan Shi. When Yan touched his invention’s hand, it could respond.
The work in the weaving room was scrutinized closer than any other part of the production. This net of wires would connect inside the automatons and provide the means to control its limbs. The women were meticulous about every detail, even if they didn’t understand the nature of the design.
“She’s too important to come see us now!” Sister Yan teased. She rose to smooth out the wire pathways on her loom, standing on tiny feet bound into the prescribed lotus shape.
I saw to the women’s feet and to any other complaints, moving down the line and providing supplies to be used once the day’s work was done. It gave me a chance to speak to everyone and each of them wanted to be the one with something new and interesting to share.
The wire room was aware of the recent accidents. One woman’s husband worked at the foundry at Tai Shan. He’d narrowly missed being caught in the explosion. Rumors began to circulate about what had happened even before the last of the fires had been extinguished.
It didn’t take long for me to bring up news of Little Guo who’d lost a leg.
“The clever orphan from Sichuan,” Yan remarked. “How very sad.”
“Orphan?”
Jiang had told me that Guo had a younger brother. The wire weavers insisted, however, that Little Guo was without family. Of course, rumors were just rumors.
I also learned that Guo had earned a reputation for cleverness by fixing the ramshackle devices that churned along in the factory village. Materials were scarce and the hovels there had been erected haphazardly. The village machinery buckled due to exposure to wind and rain and frequently broke down. Guo had a knack for keeping things running.
When I tried to ask about the wheel carving, the women merely shook their heads. They’d never seen anything like that. After several hours, I was confident I’d uncovered everything I could and politely took my leave.
“Be careful, Big Sister!” they warned by way of farewell. “Don’t forget us now that you’re Zhuzhi yishi and all that.”
As I walked back from the facility, I considered how it might be useful to pass some knowledge of remedies and treatments to one of the girls from the workroom. It was how I’d come to learn my trade. Our village physician had needed help so I became his apprentice. The closest person I had to being a pupil was perhaps Kai, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to send him to the women’s quarters.
These were the sorts of concerns I should have been occupying myself with. I was making too much of young Guo’s predicament. It wasn’t that peculiar he was curious and even excited about machinery.
My brother Tian was like that. He took after our father, inheriting a talent for engineering. And then there was Chang-wei. Whenever something bothered him, he threw himself into some complex mechanical project. My mother was mathematically-minded and numbers provided her with a sense of order.
There was something comforting in the thought of interlocking parts and systems. It was akin to meditation.
The last thing I wanted to do was point my finger at someone who was innocent. Guo’s only failing was he was too bright to escape notice.
By the time I returned to the infirmary, half the day was gone and I had a long list of tasks to complete. Kai might complain he was doing my work as well as his own, except he never complained.
As I approached, I was nearly knocked over by a blur of skinny arms and legs. It was Po, the errand boy.
“Yishi!” he exclaimed, out of breath. “They need help. At the Citadel.”
A knot formed in my stomach. “What happened?”
“They need someone strong. And right away.”
Another accident? There was no alarm sounding, but the citadel wasn’t set up with the same warning system.
Kai was already coming down the stairs when I waved him over. He gathered two others and Po led the way, breaking into a run. I did the same, struggling to keep up with the men’s longer strides. I still carried my medical case though I prayed it wouldn’t be needed.
Po yelled something over his shoulder. All I could catch was “Engineer Chen” and my blood ran cold.
We approached the towering stone structure. It was the seat of the factory Directorate as well as engineering and munitions. The bureaucrats who ran the Factories were housed there, literally looking down over the rest of the compound.
I was out of breath by the time we reached the front gate. Kai and the two men he had gathered darted in first. Po and I followed. Oddly, there was no one at the gate to stop us. Inside, the place was in disarray. We searched down the corridors for someone who could help us and finally happened upon an attendant.
“In the yard,” he directed, his voice shaking.
I’d been at the Factories for a year, but I’d never been summoned to the citadel. It was a fortress connected to a perimeter of stone walls and guard towers. As we neared the inner bailey, I heard a sound that stopped me cold. It was the heavy thud of footsteps, each movement accompanied by the grind of metal gears. I had heard that sound once before.
My heart raced as I peered into the wall-enclosed area. A massive automaton tore through the yard, its limbs crashing wildly against the walls in a cloud of shattered rock and dust.
The thing resembled one of the battle-suited assassins who had attacked us in Nagasaki. It was covered in overlapping armored plates. Behind its helmet loomed a black void where a face should have been.
It was my nightmare come to life. The machine stood head and shoulders above the tallest of the men. Chang-wei’s creation was mindless and more destructive than the clockwork assassins we had faced. And he had lost control of it.
In the far corner, two men from the engineering corps crouched inside a steel cage. The automaton’s massive arms struck at the bars with enough force to dent the cage.
Frantically, I searched the yard for Chang-wei. He was stationed at the opposite end with a unit of armed guards. Someone lay on the ground at their feet. The guardsmen had rifles aimed at the automaton, but Chang-wei held them back with a raised arm. His eyes trained on to the raging automaton.
My first glimpse of Chang-wei after so long was a shock. He was so thin. The sculpted lines of his face appeared taut and ragged. Eventually, he turned and saw us as we hovered at the entrance to the yard. Chang-wei met my
eyes only briefly. The look I saw there could only be described as desolate.
“You’ll have to pry them out!” Chang-wei shouted across the yard, indicating the men trapped in the corner.
The protective cage had been badly damaged. The door wouldn’t open without force.
“We need tools,” Kai said.
Our small crew slipped back inside the citadel. We went searching through the corridors until we found a series of workrooms. Inside were some potentially helpful implements.
“What is that thing?” Kai asked, turning to me as he took up something that looked like an iron pickaxe in one hand and a long, thin rod in the other.
Hitokiri was the name that came to mind. It was a word I’d learned in Japan.
“It’s a machine,” I told him. “A killing machine.”
The crack of rifle fire split the air as we hurried back through the corridors. I looked over at Kai in alarm. His jaw was set in a hard line as his pace quickened.
“They’re shooting,” Po said breathlessly. The boy had grabbed an iron bar as well.
We emerged out into the yard to see that the automaton was no longer intent on bashing in the safety cage. The thing was rampaging through the walled enclosure, bouncing and crashing into the walls as it chased after the guardsmen on the other side. They took aim with their rifles and fired directly at the machine’s torso, but the shots glanced harmlessly off the metal hull to deflect into the surrounding wall.
“Stop shooting,” Chang-wei ordered. He and the guardsmen scattered as the machine crashed through their ranks.
The automaton was outfitted with a helmet. Though the face was an empty void, it had the illusion of being human. One might imagine the thing could somehow use sight to direct its attacks, but that was impossible. It only had the shape of a man, albeit a giant one. The machine had to be operating by responding to pressure and impact to direct itself. Maybe even sound? Chang-wei was using the firearms to draw the automaton away from the engineers in the cage.
“Go quickly. It can’t see you,” I shouted to Kai as the machine charged toward the guard unit.