The Rebellion Engines Page 6

  I started to insist that he couldn’t blame himself, but I stopped myself. Chang-wei wouldn’t be who he was without the twin weights of duty and responsibility on each shoulder.

  “The imperial Chief Engineer will be here tomorrow,” Chang-wei said. “I won’t be able to hide anything from Kuo Lishen.”

  Chief Engineer Kuo had taken over as head of the Ministry of Science after my father was removed. At one time, he had been a close acquaintance of my father’s. They had come up through the same class and were promoted in parallel up the ranks. I remember hearing Kuo Lishen’s name frequently in our house when I was young, but I knew little of what was spoken back then. I had been a child with a child’s lack of cares.

  After the empire’s defenses had failed in the Opium War, my father and his closest associates had fallen into disgrace. Before the war, he’d warned the Grand Council that the Qing empire’s defenses were no match for western steamships and that the Ministry of Science would need to learn and adapt.

  At first, he’d been ignored, then later condemned as a traitor for advocating what was denounced as western thinking. The rumors had gone so far as to insinuate that he was a collaborator and that was why our defenses had been defeated so soundly. There was no evidence of such treachery, but it didn’t matter. It was what Father’s enemies chose to believe.

  While many of Father’s colleagues had fled or were expelled, Kuo Lishen had thrived. He’d taken on the highest post in the Ministry and became a trusted adviser to the new Emperor, young Yizhu, when the crown prince took the throne.

  I didn’t trust Kuo. And not only because of his superior attitude toward Chang-wei. He and my family had some unfavorable history, I was certain of it.

  “Chief Engineer Kuo will have to understand that you can only do so much,” I insisted.

  Chang-wei exhaled long and slow, as if the effort of breathing pained him. “I’m going to be relieved of my duties.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Maybe I should be removed.”

  The thought left me cold. I’d come to Hubei with him. We were in this together.

  “This entire endeavor was your vision,” I reminded him.

  “Sometimes I wish it hadn’t been.”

  He met my eyes with grave seriousness while I stared at him in shock.

  “Come with me for a moment,” he said finally.

  I followed him out of the workroom. We walked through the corridors until we reached a flight of stairs. Chang-wei lit a lantern before we climbed up to the battlements.

  The evening was just upon us and there was still a faint light from the parting sun on the horizon. Wisps of smoke puffed up from the factory chimneys from the last production runs. Little points of light had started to appear in the makeshift village just beyond. I’d never been up on the battlements before and had never been able to see the full expanse of the factory grounds from on high.

  At either end of the wall, two watchtowers rose high over the compound. Guardsmen were rotated through watch duty day and night. Indeed, I could see the glow of lanterns up in the towers right now.

  “I want to show you something,” Chang-wei said.

  We walked side by side along the battlements to the far side of the Citadel. From there, I could see beyond the wall that enclosed the Factories. There was another enclosure, a flat area that might have been used as a training yard when the compound had been a military encampment. My breath caught in my throat as I realized what I was looking at. There, spaced out like pieces on a chess board, were rows upon rows of automatons. A full regiment of machine warriors.

  “Are they operational?” I asked, my throat dry.

  “Not yet.”

  I didn’t know what I felt upon hearing that. Relief?

  “The gearworks are in place,” Chang-wei went on. “The joints and levers to facilitate motion. But the control pathways—”

  The intricate patterns the women were weaving in the Song Shan workroom.

  “The controls are still faulty—as we saw.” His voice dropped away.

  “You’ll find a way to fix it. You know it can be done.”

  Chang-wei nodded. “Because it’s been done before.”

  In Japan, they had been called karakuri — mechanical puppets. Most had been created to perform a single task, but we had seen one machine with a more sophisticated design. This particular automaton had behaved as if it were a samurai warrior, going so far as to sacrifice itself for its mistress.

  Chang-wei shook his head. “We don’t have enough time to find a solution.”

  The delegation from Peking would be here tomorrow. “It would be short-sighted of them to punish you for what’s happened. The Yingguoren have been occupying our ports for years now. If it takes a little longer to build a proper defense—”

  “These aren’t meant for the foreign invaders.” He let out a breath. “The machines will march on the Taiping rebels.”

  A shiver went down my spine as I looked out over the rows of armor-plated warriors. The machines were being built to cut down our own countrymen.

  On the day of the official visit, my directive was to go about my duties as usual. The delegation had little interest in the day-to-day operations of the Factories and no interest in the injuries suffered by the crews. If anything, the Directorate wanted the physicians and other caretakers out of sight.

  I assumed the official review would come and go without any need of my services, but I assumed wrong.

  Inspector Hala came personally to summon me to the citadel in his impassive and commanding tone.

  I hurried to keep up with his long stride. “May I ask for what purpose?”

  “You were present at the recent incident,” the inspector replied. “Your perspective is of value to the delegation.”

  What did the Directorate expect me to say? It might help Chang-wei to have a supporting voice, but I shared his reservations about the automatons.

  “I also just learned of your role,” the inspector continued.

  “My role?”

  “Your particular history with Engineer Chen. You have insight into his mental state.” The inspector turned to look at me. With his narrow face and protruding eyes, he gave me the impression of a mantis on the prowl.

  I stopped cold. It was well-known that Chang-wei was my father’s protege and it was no secret we were once betrothed. The thought that the imperial court had any interest in personal matters between us made my skin crawl.

  I was certain now that anything I revealed to Hala would be used as ammunition.

  The inspector continued his march to the citadel. Once we arrived, I immediately sensed the atmosphere had become more restrictive. We passed by several series of guards as well as officials in imperial regalia as we went through the corridors.

  We continued to a new area of the stronghold I hadn’t been to before, eventually winding around into an interior training field. I found myself facing row upon row of ominous and faceless automatons.

  Even though they were just empty shells without the elekiter devices required to power them, the sight of them still sent a cold wave of dread through me. Especially after seeing what just one of them could do when activated.

  The entourage from Peking was moving among the automatons to inspect them. The machines towered head and shoulders over even the tallest person, who happened to be the Chief Engineer himself.

  Chang-wei was at the head of the procession dressed in a formal court robe with his queue neatly braided to trail down his back. His cap was set with a peacock feather to denote his rank. I barely recognized him in the regalia.

  I looked down at the gray tunic I wore accompanied by slippers that were scuffed from daily use. They were covered with a layer of dust.

  “The automatons are designed to be fitted with weapons,” Chang-wei was saying. “But the protocols for weapons-use have not been fully tested.”

  He was speaking to a tall, bearded official. Chief Engineer Kuo Lishen.
r />   “Your work is incomplete then,” Kuo replied sharply.

  “Unfortunately, that is correct.”

  “How much more time do you need?”

  I didn’t hear Chang-wei’s answer. The small, slight figure that followed behind the Chief Engineer caught my eye. The functionary was dressed in a mandarin jacket and trousers, a plain uniform denoting a lower rank. A pair of dark-rimmed spectacles were set over the bridge of his slender nose. He balanced a book over one arm and appeared to be transcribing notes.

  The entire delegation moved down the row of silent warriors and the functionary disappeared momentarily behind one of the automatons. I hurried to catch up to them. When the group came back into view, I saw who I thought was a man was actually a woman. And not just any woman.

  She glanced over at me and her eyes grew wide behind the round lenses of her spectacles. It was my mother.

  Mother broke away from the group of officials to come to me. Chief Engineer Kuo was left staring after her but said nothing. Perhaps audacity came with age or, more likely, this was another sign of my mother’s selective ability to disregard the world around her.

  “Soling, I was hoping to see you,” she said, her face bright.

  Aware that everyone was watching, I pulled her aside into the corner of the yard. It was far from private, but at least we were away from the center of things.

  “What are you doing here, Mother?”

  She adjusted her spectacles, which I’d never seen her wear before. “I’m assisting Kuo. You haven’t been home in over a year, Daughter. Not even for the Spring Festival.”

  “I sent letters,” I said guiltily.

  The last one was months ago. Hala and his agents pored through anything that was sent from the Factories to ensure that production of the automatons was being kept a secret. Each facility built the component parts without ever seeing the whole of what was being assembled in the citadel. As a result, my letters had always been bland and perfunctory, inquiring about my mother’s health and my brother’s studies. Little had I known—

  “How long has this been going on?” I asked, looking her over.

  “Kuo had work for me to do. You remember.”

  Kuo Lishen had given my mother some calculations to perform when our family had first returned to Peking.

  When I looked at her notes, I could see details about the conversation along with other scribblings - figures, geometric diagrams, equations. As if the linear conversation between Chang-wei and the Chief Engineer weren’t nearly enough to keep her occupied.

  I had known that she and Kuo Lishen had some longtime association. It was common knowledge that Kuo and my father had attended the Academy together, but I’d since learned that my mother was there as well for at least one term. She’d sat for the imperial science examinations before it was discovered she was a woman.

  “Are you here in disguise?” I asked in a lowered tone.

  Mother glanced down at her clothing, touching a hand to the mandarin jacket. “Oh, this. No, it’s not necessary anymore. The Ministry will accept a woman’s work in its hallowed offices as long as she doesn’t take on any position of power. I still find it’s easier to move through Peking dressed like this. People ask fewer questions and somehow I feel more like myself.”

  I was astonished at the change in her. I was used to watching my mother with such care. Most of my memories from my childhood were of her shut away, her eyes glazed and vacant from opium smoke. The memory of that image left me cold.

  “You seem…well,” I said uncertainly.

  I didn’t know how to be around this other version of my mother. One that was vibrant and clear-headed and clever. This woman was a stranger.

  She grew quiet as well, also aware of the rift between us. It was more than a difference of being apart for a year.

  “I am much better,” she said finally. “I don’t need that poison anymore.”

  I hadn’t asked about the opium directly because I was afraid to know. Her addiction had taken up so much of the space between us for all of my life.

  “That’s good to hear, Mother.”

  I certainly hoped it was the truth, but why couldn’t I completely believe her?

  It was easier to speak of work. “So, you’re the Chief Engineer’s assistant?”

  She looked over to Kuo Lishen whose gaze fixed onto us even as he continued walking with Chang-wei. “The circumstances are…complicated,” she said beneath her breath.

  I followed behind her as she rejoined the committee.

  “Yishi Jin is the acting Head Physician of the Factories,” Chang-wei introduced me when I came to his side.

  I performed the necessary greetings and obeisances and was met with a circle of dour faces. There were three other officials in attendance in addition to Kuo Lishen. I understood them to be representatives from the imperial Grand Council sent by the Emperor. They didn’t give me the courtesy of who was who before beginning their questions.

  “You were present at the incident that occurred here last week,” one of the officials began. “When one of the engineers was killed.”

  “This servant did not witness those events, Honorable Sir.”

  “But you were present when the machine was eventually deactivated?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A barrage of questions followed. How many men were present? What was the nature and seriousness of the injuries? I was certain all of the details had been given in a stack of reports. I’d had to write several myself describing the fractures that Kai had suffered as well as describing what had happened to the engineer who had been killed. I still had nightmares about him and his face, the face that I would never see.

  Despite all the paperwork, the officials were still intent on questioning me directly. I consciously avoided looking over to Chang-wei as I answered, though I couldn’t help but wonder if they had asked him the same questions and were looking for someone to either confirm or dispute his version of events.

  “What weapons were employed against the machine?” Kuo asked. “Were they effective?”

  The answer was that we had employed every weapon we could find. And no, they weren’t effective until Chang-wei had disabled the automaton himself.

  The most senior of the officials spoke last. He had gray threaded through his hair and beard. He’d remained silent for the entire interrogation until that moment.

  “What did you feel upon seeing the machine for the first time?” he asked me.

  I could remember the grind of the metal gears, the lone figure lying still in the dirt with a pool of blood beneath him. And the hulking, inhuman frame of the killing machine as it attacked the cage where the engineers were trapped.

  “Fear,” I replied, unable to lie. “It was like looking upon a demon.”

  Chapter 6

  “Kuo Lishen came to me about calculations for a massive airship,” my mother recounted. “It was a dragon in the sky with impressive red sails.”

  Mother and I sat in her room for our evening meal. All of the officials and councilmen and functionaries were meeting elsewhere, and we hadn’t been summoned to join them. I much preferred it this way anyway. A simple tray of rice and pickled vegetables sat between us along with a plate of fried bean curd and sweet wine. The wine was an indulgence.

  “It was enormous. The size of a mountain.” My mother became animated as she spoke, with her eyes bright and dancing. “I worked out the calculations and the thing would never fly. No engine could lift it. It would have been disastrous to even try to build it.”

  “What was its purpose then?” I asked, scooping up a mouthful of rice with bamboo chopsticks.

  “To look fearsome and impressive?” she wagered with a shrug. “Then I unrolled the second plan and what could it be? An ocean junk, one that looked like any other ship except—”

  “The size of a mountain,” I finished for her.

  She nodded, stifling a laugh.

  “And it would never have floated?” I asked.r />
  “Oh, it would have. But nothing could ever propel it. It would have been more useful in pieces.”

  “Zheng He’s treasure ships were supposed to measure forty-five zhang in length.” It was the sort of detail my parents would have once been intent on telling me.

  “This design was larger than a treasure ship,” Mother said. “Obscenely so.”

  I was getting a glimpse of what my mother might have been like had things been different. Flowing with conversation. Excited about minute numerical details.

  “I’ve known Kuo Lishen for a long time,” she continued. “He was never particularly clever. No sense of ingenuity. Just a big talker.”

  Mother paused to pick up a slice of bean curd. It was habit for me to watch over her, looking for signs that she wasn’t well. Was she eating enough? Sleeping enough? Was she anxious?

  From what I could see, she really did look better.

  “Kuo has other talents. Sometimes I think if Kuo had been promoted to Imperial Chief Engineer and had to deal with politics while your father had remained in the background—” She fell silent.

  For a moment, we both sat quietly, picking at the food.

  “But your father was also good at convincing people,” Mother resumed. “He wasn’t just an engineer. Everyone respected him. They admired him.”

  There was no scenario where the cannons didn’t fail. Where the Westerners didn’t take over our ports and my father wasn’t blamed for the empire’s inability to defend itself. It hurt to think of the dark and inevitable fate of things.

  This was why my mother didn’t like to dwell on the past. The past was a problem that couldn’t be solved, no matter how hard one tried. Mother was a solver of equations. A finder of logical inconsistencies.

  At least my mother wasn’t avoiding the past anymore, but the brief memory of my father was all she was able to endure. When she spoke again, it was about an entirely different subject.

  “You and Engineer Chen seem close.”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks. I took a sip of the rice wine to stall.