"Come on, ye silly boy! Get up now!"

Otts' rescuer pulled him away from the crowd. The music receded into the background. As he began to recover his senses, he finally got a look at the person who saved him.

The girl wore a tan jumpsuit flecked with grease stains. A pair of well-used welder's goggles rested above her cropped pixie hairdo. Her almond-shaped eyes were underlined by thick, ashen streaks, to keep out the glare of workshop lighting. There was no doubt: his savior was a mekaniko.

"Descartes' demon! You're bleeding!" she remarked, brushing Otts' hair away from the cuts on his cheek.

"'Tis but a flesh wound! I've experienced worse on the jai alai court," he bluffed, trying to sound casual. "My friends call me Otts, by the way."

"Oh! The name's Ynés," she said. "Hey, my Maestro's studio isn't too far away. We might have some healing salves you can use."