Quoth the Nightingale
Artist-mechanic is disturbed by interest in their latest pet project
Content warnings1
The last part slides into place with a satisfying click. Klie checks the connection and enters a single terminal command.
The mechanical raven on their workbench sings a single mournful note, ending in a sharp chac chac chac. Its glossy black wings shudder as if it wants to stretch them and take off into the air, but this sudden movement throws it off balance and it topples over.
Klie kills the program and runs an error analysis. Thankfully, the hardware is undamaged. Klie rights the bird and sighs. "Whatever am I going to do with you?" they ask but of course, the bird doesn't respond.
This is how it's supposed to be. If Klie stays in their workshop with their critters of screw and wire, they are safe from the unexpected. Safe from danger and pain. Unlike the outside world, this place will always provide the safety and comfort that Klie needs.
Klie jumps as the sliding door hisses open. In comes a tall humanoid, dressed in black from head to toe. As they pull their hood off, several gold rings flash on their dark-skinned hands. The rings hold stones of burgundy, pearly white, and obsidian. The visitor's pupil-less dark eyes shine against the pallor of their face.
Caught staring, Klie lowers their gaze. "Welcome to my workshop. How may I help you?"
The visitor points one claw-nailed finger at the raven. "I was just walking by when I heard the bird sing. A crow, isn't it? Is it for sale?"
Only two types of people would have such keen hearing: implant users or nonhuman species. Klie is surprised that their smartglasses did not notify them of anything unusual but they might have been blocked. Klie refuses to judge others for wanting privacy. "Raven. And I haven't considered it. There are still several performance issues to resolve."
"This is still a prototype, then?"
Klie nods and their fingers shake when they comb back a gray strand of hair. The visitor has a deep resonant voice, not unpleasant at all, but their unnatural stillness takes Klie's breath away.
"I would like to reserve the right to purchase this one. Please show it to no one until it is done."
Suddenly Meow the mechanical cat jumps on the workbench, passing perilously close to the raven, and hisses at the stranger. "Cut it out!" Klie whispers, mortified.
But the stranger is already retreating to the door. "I shall return in two weeks."
Meow only stops hissing when the door closes. Then he sits and cocks his head at Klie. "That person smelled funny. I don't like them. Same as that project of yours, you know. Why are you building a raven that sings like a nightingale?"
Klie thinks. It is often hard for them to gather the right words to describe what they are feeling and when they have, it takes time to assemble them. "Beautiful song from the beak of a raven is… unexpected. I hope that all who hear it will marvel and appreciate its beauty. It was challenging too, adjusting the vocal cords to my specifications and programming variations into its model."
"That work of art could become dangerous to you," Meow mutters.
"Dangerous?" Klie asks without looking.
"Its owners will get used to hearing a beautiful nightingale voice from a raven's throat. They will only remember its song, forgetting that ravens are clever and vicious. They're no pretty songbirds. When they meet a real one, they might ask it to sing instead of guarding their valuables."
Finally, Klie turns away from the screen and looks at the metal bird on the workbench.
Meow taps it with one paw. "You shouldn't sell it."
Klie stands. "Is there any coffee left in the pot? I need a fresh cup."
"Pouring," Meow says, switching to obedient household AI. When Klie wanders over into the tiny kitchen, he follows with his black tail held high. He has said all there was to say, he knows that the rest is up to Klie.
Klie closes the workshop and spends the next days in bed, tinkering with a program they have been working on. They scour the net for hours, gathering tidbits on obscure programming languages that went out of fashion decades ago.
As the program matures, they think of the mechanical raven. To alleviate the twitching, its vocal cords would have to be programmed separately from the rest of its body. Klie catches themselves going through the possibilities in their head. Finally, they give in and return to the workshop, although they still keep it closed to customers.
No customers means no pupil-less black eyes and weird hands.
Meow still doesn't approve but Klie is not worried about the raven itself. They have no intention of mass-producing or even selling the prototype but it is a challenge: larger, more intricate than the dragonflies, moths, and rats that clutter their shelves and delight the other space station residents.
One morning, a ping from the door informs Klie that their weekly mushroom delivery has arrived. Yawning, they shuffle to the door and freeze when it opens.
There, holding the bright green box, stands the visitor from two weeks ago. Still wrapped in black, dark-skinned hands still festooned with rings, stillness in their lines. "May I come in?"
Klie reels back, wanting to shout, but their "No" comes out as a breathless whisper.
The door refuses to close. The stranger hesitates at the threshold. "I have come to inquire about the raven. As your workshop has been closed for days, I had to find more creative means to reach you. Have I startled you?"
Klie shakes their head--not to reply but in an effort to focus. It proves difficult against the white storm in their head. "Why are you doing this?"
The stranger sets down the box. Outside the door. "Since I have not seen you around this neighborhood, I am assuming you have not left your quarters. You have a rare talent, Klie Nam. Your mechanical creations are a marvel. I wish you well. Come outside and talk to me about the raven."
"Please give me the box and leave."
"You have nothing to fear. Come."
Nothing but you, Klie thinks but something about the stranger has shifted. Their tone is gentle, their eyes no longer bottomless pits but liquid ink. As if reading Klie's thoughts, they take two steps back and clasp their hands behind their back. Non-threatening.
Perhaps it is the days Klie spent hiding under a weighted blanket. Perhaps it is the frustration with how their own head sabotages every aspect of their life. Klie is fed up. Klie is angry.
Klie steps outside, kicks the box into the workshop, and whirls around. "Satisfied?" they ask the stranger loudly. Good, loud is good.
When the stranger smiles, neither Klie nor their smartglasses can detect any falsehood in that smile. "Quite. Now tell me, how is the raven?"
Klie tells the stranger, describing their recent problems with tune and variation in the bird's song. It is designed to respond to requests for 'joyful' or 'sad' birdsong but one command pattern has been causing a loop, an unexpected problem that Klie hasn't resolved yet.
"How long will it take to resolve?"
"I was planning on digging into it today. Two days, max."
The stranger gives a satisfied nod. "I will return in three days. Again, please keep the raven for me, no one else."
"Why?" Klie asks. The monologue has been more than they sometimes speak in an entire week, now the words are loosened and the question comes easily.
"Next time," the stranger says. "Please keep it for Cylilsu Isi." They bow gracefully and are soon swallowed by the undercity's shadows.
"I was afraid at first but now… They don't seem hostile. They said they wished me well, whatever that means," Klie tries to explain to Meow, perched on their shoulder and digging his claws into their overalls.
"You know you can't always trust your smartglasses to interpret people for you," Meow argues. They're on a busy street but on this station of modders and misfits, neither mechanical cats nor talking ones are a novelty.
"I know," Klie admits, "but they sounded truthful."
"Will you sell it to them?"
"Well…" In truth, Klie hasn't thought beyond wanting to see Cylilsu again. And what a name! Cylilsu Isi, a name one would expect to trip up even the nimblest tongue, that nevertheless rolls around one's mouth like olive oil.
Klie is saved from Meow's next scathing remark when they arrive at the farmers' market and they need all their brain power for working through their long shopping list. Still, they are grateful for the cat keeping the tempest in their head at bay. Klie has almost forgotten how much venturing out into the city takes out of them.
On the way back, they think of Cylilsu's words: You have nothing to fear. It was the first time that Klie has believed someone else saying those words.
Days later, the door chimes and Klie shoots up from the workbench. Since last night, they have merely polished the finished raven's wings and beak to keep their hands busy. Cylilsu floats into the workshop like the bird's overgrown twin. "Klie. You seem better."
"I went to the market," Klie says, playing with their pockets.
"Well done." Black boots appear in Klie's vision as Cylilsu steps closer. "Klie, can you look at me?"
Klie might have done so just to hear that deep voice saying their name again. Today, it is warm and soft like chocolate. As they lift their gaze, however, something flits across Cylilsu's pale face. "Would you take off your glasses for a second?"
Klie recoils. "Why?"
Cylilsu's ichor-pale brows lower. "Just for a second. Let me see your eyes."
Klie can't resist. Something in Cylilsu's gaze compels their hands to lift and take off the glasses. A feeling of terrible nakedness lodges in their chest. The glasses slip from their fingers and clink onto the floor.
Three seconds later, Cylilsu looks away. A small noise escapes their lips when they bend and pick up Klie's glasses as if whatever they saw in Klie's eyes has aged them by ten years. "You do carry implants then. A shame," they say and put the glasses on the counter.
Klie hurries to put them back on. Unfortunately, they offer no explanation of Cylilsu's words. "What…"
Cylilsu offers a tiny smile. "I can tell you are intrigued by me. This much I can say: I am one of the last in a dying breed of parasites. I have to feed on others to survive, on their life force. Implants, however, dilute life force."
Klie looks back down at their shoes. "You would have… fed on me?"
"Only a little, with your consent. In my long life, I have never killed a living being by feeding on them."
"Why me?" This, above all, Klie does not understand. They are dysfunctional, forever caught between the storm in their head and the chaotic world outside their door. It takes so much of their energy just to get out of bed and into the workshop each day. They fail a lot. They are tired a lot. Surely, even Cylilsu must have noticed a fraction of it, the tip of the iceberg. Why me?
Again, Cylilsu smiles. "You might think yourself a mere mechanic but what I see is an artist. Your mechanical animals are works of art. I have never seen anything like them on my travels. I would have been honored to accept whatever you were willing to offer."
Klie refuses to think about this. "And the raven? Was it only a pretense to get closer to me?"
"I still wish to purchase the raven. Will you show it to me?"
Klie does, partly for a chance to catch their breath and push aside everything they have learned about this strange being. They run through a handful of commands, demonstrating how to coax different melodies from the raven's metal throat. There is not a single glitch. Finally, Klie has it sing a well-known theme of classic opera.
When the raven falls silent, Cylilsu caresses its head with one finger. "Beautiful. Name your price and I will pay it."
Briefly, Klie thinks of Meow's warning. The cat has been confined to their living quarters for the day. Klie knows what he would say but Cylilsu's truth now connects them like an invisible golden thread. Klie is sure they will not show off or use the raven lightly.
They name a sum that will keep them afloat for three months. Cylilsu pays without batting an eyelash. Should they have demanded more? Klie gets a feeling that Cylilsu would have paid, enough to buy a house on the surface, to set them up for life.
Cylilsu takes the raven carefully and tucks them under their cloak. Their gaze on Klie is tender like a hug. They seem to know that Klie hates physical touch. "Thank you," they say.
"Thank you," Klie echoes and means it.
Klie will think about Cylilsu for years to come. At first, they will miss them and hope for their return. Eventually, the memories will fade into sepia melancholy. Knowing they exist somewhere in the galaxy, looking at the raven and thinking of Klie, is enough.
depression
I liked the muted melancholy scenes you depicted in your recent longest post!