Ratch was gone for hours. It was unusual for her. The Nisseri mechanic practically slept in her workshop, if she slept at all. She spent the long hours fine tuning the intricate machinery she'd created for him or tinkering with some other project while he watched her. She didn't know he observed her, he was supposed to be resting. He had not, could not, admit to her he rarely slept more than an hour or two at a time. And when she slipped away during those brief respites, he woke choked in fear, the echo of screams in his head, and a sense of time running out.

This was something else he hadn't admitted to her, but the subject was far more dangerous territory. He didn't know how long he'd lived in the confines of Ratch's workshop. Time was fluid here. Since he slept so little, he had no concept of days or weeks. His abduction from Jamestown felt like another lifetime, reborn the moment he woke up on her table. Essentially, he was a new man, almost more metal than flesh. No one from his childhood would recognize him now.  Another lie, but he didn't want to think of her. Was she still alive? Still looking for him? He prayed not. He didn't feel like Miles Glouschester anymore, he wasn't the quiet machinist from the backwaters of New Earth Six. Miles sighed and shoved his hair out of his face as he paced.

Who are you now? He paused at his distorted reflection in the metallic walls. Half his face bore the fine reticulated plating Ratch made to respond to his facial tics and expressions. She'd seamlessly connected the metal parts to his living nervous system with a network of nanites and minuscule wiring. He could move the machinery as easily as the parts he was born with. The only miracle she couldn't perform was sensation. The work was a testament to her skill and finesse but the nerve ending she connected remained inactive, nothing more that a light pressure. The metal was a dark grey, faintly lit by the wiring underneath it. His mechanical eye was a sharp acid green, contrasted against his natural brown eye, whirring to focus on the growth of facial hair along his jaw. He had a short red beard covering the lower half of his face and his hair brushed his shoulders. He'd been clean shaven when he was taken, with a close cropped inch on his head. I've been here for months and I know nothing about her.

This was the pendulum of his thoughts that swung to and fro between the painful loss of his former life and his uncertain present with an enigma of a female. Most days, he did not trust Ratch, often wondered when she'd hand him back over to the harvesters to finish him off. Nothing but another experiment to her. He resisted the urge to slam his fist against the wall. He dare not make a noise, fearful any passing Nisseri would hear his outburst and investigate. No one allowed in Ratch's workshop but Ratch. He grit his teeth and fought the false sense of security she gave him, a wavering battle. There was nowhere safe for a human on this ship.

The door slid open behind him. He turned to Ratch, her expression distance, eyes unfocused. His doubts and suspicions fell away. She worried her bottom lip again. Whenever he saw the gesture he felt a tug in his stomach. He crossed his arms over his chest to cover his discomfort.

"What's wrong?" Her head snapped toward him, giving him a real glimpse of her face. His heart stuttered. He walked forward before his thoughts caught up. She met him halfway and leaned into his shoulder while his arms settled around the small of her back. Grief, her expression was rife with grief so profound he couldn't help but respond to it. Ratch didn't cry as she rested in his hold, her solemn silence heavy between them.

She released a long exhale, her breath cool against his neck, and pulled away far enough to look up at him. She played with the long strands of hair spilling over his cheek.

"We need to trim this. It's become quite unruly," she said, her voice cold, face blank. A spike of anger shot through him. He dropped his arms from her waist.

"Ratch-" Her fingers pressed to his lips, silencing him. She went to a storage chest and removed a dark brown cloak with a large hood. Returning to him, she stood on tip toe to throw the material over his shoulders.

"Either bend your knees or put up the hood yourself. You're too tall, human." A small smile played on her lips that didn't reach her eyes.

He started in surprise, tugged the hood over his head so that it left his face in a cave of fabric. The unasked question hovered between them.

"Come on then, and try not to gawk at everything." Ratch headed for the door. She clearly expected him to follow. Miles froze, torn between curiosity and a fear that squeezed his windpipe shut. She paused in the doorway, sensing his hesitation. She offered her hand, a hint of vulnerability in her mismatched eyes, gone in a flash. She was hiding her emotions, but not necessarily from him. He grasped her hand with his living one, felt her warm calloused palm against his own. He let her lead him into the dim hallway.

By the poor lighting and exposed pipes and wiring, Ratch's workshop was in the bowels of the ship. She led Miles through narrow twisting halls, not meeting another soul until they emerged into a cavernous open space. Miles blinked, his jaw going slack at the sight before him. If he hadn't just emerged from the winding network of service halls, he wouldn't believe he was on a ship.

Before him stretched an atrium lush with trees and plant life, some recognizable, some he'd never imagined, cohabiting the same space, the scents mingling into a fragrant overlay from the bustling clusters of shops and stalls interspersed with simple domiciles. The clang and hiss of forges mixed with the clicking chatter of hundreds of Nisseri of all ages. A pack of children ran past in a chorus of giggles, their appearance drawing his stare until Ratch tugged his arm, forcing him to look away.

"You're gawking," she teased, letting him gain his bearings in the shallow overhang of a stall proffering a pungent soup.

"This-this looks nothing like what I've seen," he said, not mentioning the children. Unlike the mashed up faces of the adults, the Nisseri children bore few alterations, many of their faces were still natural.

Sadness seeped into Ratch's blank features as she looked out over the vibrant scene. "You've only seen the worst parts of this ship. There is more to the Nisseri than their flesh shops, no matter how much they try to hide it. Come on, I want to show you something." She pulled him into the bustling throng, waving to those who called out a greeting. It took him a while to notice the similarities between the mechanic's greeters. Unlike the majority of the Nisseri who ignored their presence, the calm, clear eyed few who called to Ratch were specimens of fine craftsmanship. From the grease smeared man who repaired a hawker's cooking apparatus to the woman mending clothes on a front stoop, all possessed mechanical limbs or features, and their faces had the same seamless symmetrical quality. A smiling woman, who nodded to them as they ducked into another series of service tunnels, had a metal jaw melded so perfectly to her face Miles would have missed it but for the gleam of metallic teeth in her mouth.

"Kessel lost her jaw in an engine room explosion. Took me months to find a way for her to eat without difficulty. Had to rebuild the hinge of her mouth." Ratch's voice echoed as they followed another maze of tunnels.

"Why didn't she just replace it with someone else's?" Miles muttered, and slammed into Ratch, who'd stopped without warning. "What-"

She turned on him, her eyes blazed with muted anger, voice quiet but ragged in the empty hall. "Because she holds life in a higher regard than for spare parts," She lifted her face. "And she's not alone in that regard."

Ratch walked away from him, only a few more steps before she pried a panel from the wall. She gestured him inside with a nod. Miles cast her an uncertain frown and stepped into the wall, expecting a small duct or another tunnel. He stood there, stunned. Ratch slid in behind him, and replaced the panel. They stood in a temple.

The space was a third of the size of Ratch's workshop, decorated with strings of lights and carefully carved wooden beads. The walls were draped with colorful cloth hangings. The lighting was low. It cast a soft glow on the Nisseri statue that occupied the rear of the room. Ratch knelt before the statue and lit a stick of incense she set in a small vat of sand at the idol's feet. Miles shuffled up behind her, studying the wooden figure. It was a female, her natural ridges exaggerated, a pair of twisting horns protruding from her forehead. The carved clothing was simple, a plain robe with a golden tassel painted around her waist. The shelf the statue occupied was cluttered with sparkling pebbles, dried leaves, bleached bones ,and a smattering of bolts and metal scraps. The expression on the statue's face surprised him, the female's lips curved in a serene smile, eyes shut, features smooth, calm. It radiated peace.

"What is this place?" Miles whispered, unable to keep silent, but unwilling to disturb the hushed atmosphere. He crouched next to Ratch, her face bowed to the statue in silent prayer, lit by the rosy glow of the shrine.

She answered without looking at him. "This is a shrine to Caliagon, Nisseri goddess of life and light."

"The Nisseri follow the cult of Opherious," Mile countered, feeling like an idiot as the words spilled from his mouth. Ratch didn't chastise or yell at him. She turned to him with a bitter smile.

"Yes, they do. My people follow a god of Death and Chaos and it is ruining them." She extracted a small knife from her pocket and carefully cut a strand of his hair free. She added it to the assortment of offerings at the statue's feet. "The Nisseri used to revere life, even after they began harvesting parts to extend their own. It was only from the dead, with proper respects paid to the body. We had our own unique technological culture, the fore runners in mechanical replacements, not a twisted melding of stolen technologies."

Miles studied the collection of offering, letting her words sink in. "How many worship here?"

"All who greeted us in the commons and their families. They are a fraction of the tribe, so we keep our goddess where Opherious can't reach her, her shrine hidden in darkness, and her light in our hearts."

"Why did you bring me here?" Miles asked because she wanted him to. He already knew what he needed. Ratch would never hand him back to the harvesters. The realization released a knot of fear and doubt he'd held onto since waking in her workshop.

"I wanted you to see me, not the harvesters who did this to you," she said, her fingertips caressed the feet of the horned goddess. "You don't trust me. I don't blame you. My people have become blood thirsty and cruel. The Blight grows more virulent with each passing year, destroying entire tribes. It is devouring my race and they do nothing but sow more death and destruction in the name of Opherious." Her eyes met his, bleak and stark in the temple glow. "My family was from another tribe, which succumbed to the Blight. Their ship suffered a coup from their cargo of slaves. Every man, woman, and child on board the ship was struck down without mercy. None of the Nisseri tribes answered their call for aid for days because they feared catching the sickness."

"I'm sorry for your family," Miles didn't know how else to respond to her omission. She shook her head.

"They were avid followers of Opherious. If they knew I followed the path of Caliagon, they would have turned me over to the harvesters."

He felt heartsick for her. He couldn't imagine his own kin capable of such cold cruelty. "Why did you save me?"

Her expression softened. She slid her hands under his metal one, lifting it up, examining it rather than meet his eyes.

"I found you on the discard pile. The harvesters removed most of the left side of your body, including several of your vital organs. You shouldn't have been alive but when I stood over you, you opened your remaining eye and looked at me. Somehow you continued on, I could see your body trying to mend itself. I had to do everything in my power to save you, because if your body could survive that much damage it..." she trailed off, unable to voice her hopes aloud. Miles covered her hands with his living one.

"You think I could help with the Blight." Ratch closed her eyes and nodded. He pressed his forehead to hers, feeling her muscles tense and relax at the contact. "I know nothing of medicine. What could I possibly do?"

She leaned back to look at him, her eyes lit with hope. In that moment, Miles didn't care who and what she was, the mechanic was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She grinned at him.

"We'll have to leave the ship and head to one of the most hostile planets in the system. That's her base of operations."

"Her base of operations?" He returned her grin, his first in a long time. She stared at him a moment before shaking her head.

"Yes, there is someone I want you to meet."