My brother's voice over the aether transmitter shook me out of my Spark fugue. I quickly turned off my welding torch and pulled off my mask. I dashed to the transmitter and pressed the trigger on the microphone.
"Count Marcus! This is Doctor Mason! How may I assist?"
I asked this question several times.
"Dammit, Marcus! Let me help you!" I shouted into my wireless console.
Every second of silent static felt like limitless sea of solitude.
"Negative, Doctor Mason. This is my realm."
"And I am your brother!"
My mechanical daughters huddled close to me, their glass eyes reflecting concern as I clenched the microphone in my glove with a death grip. Finally, a measured responce.
"Call for a rescue fleet for the refugees. Coordinate a landing space for Professor Bade's helicarrier."
"I can cast a summon..."
"Negative. The Hydra."
Yes, I knew his fate, and the world's safety for that matter, was bound to Belhaven by a mangled spell and a hastily improvised ward.
Regretfully I sent a final response, in Ereb'ai.
"Understood. May the Fates guide the safest path."
I looked down at Sasha, Becka and Spark. Their frocks were concealed by the laboratory robes I had sewn for them when they begged to assist me in the lab. I gazed back at the collection of brass and steel pieces lined up across my operating table.
"Girls? My brother needs a firefighter. Let's build one."
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