in mechs didn't have beards because of filtering problems.

They certainly didn't live long enough for their beards to turn grey as this man's had. He was otherwise bald except for a pair of bushy eyebrows that framed what looked like a smaller and kinder face than she was used to seeing Outside.

"Hello there, small one," the man said in a rough accent that she found hard to understand. "In something of a bind there, are we? Well, I'll tell you something, I learned that there lesson the hard way too. I was strolling about during the battle, trying to collect some pieces I needed for me baby here, and ended up on the ground when they dropped a building on me. It took them two days to dig me out, and you'd better believe I cussed at them over the radio the whole fucking time, too. They don't leave the Tinker behind, buried under rubble."

"The tinker?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, that's my name, see?" the man replied with a small grin. "Well, not really my name, but I done forgot my real one, so everyone calls me Tinker. Even me, sometimes."

"I can see that," she replied.

"What's your name, little one?" he asked and took a tentative step closer as if he didn’t want to scare her but also wanted her to feel welcome.

"Jessica," she said, a little out of her depth but determined not to let it show. "Jessica13."

"Jessica13. That's an odd name," he commented, his tone curious rather than insulting.

"So is Tinker, but you didn't hear me complain," she snapped in response but good-naturedly. She could see he saw it that way as well and he laughed at her words.

"Well, you have some spark in you, make no mistake." He rumbled another laugh. "And sure I am that's required for surviving out here in the wild, so it's always nice to hear and watch. But in all seriousness, only one group of folks are the kind who put numbers at the end of names. The kind of folks who like to keep track of how many people have the same name."

She nodded and stepped forward. "I'm from one of the bunkers. One out to the east of here, about a hundred klicks, called Sanctuary. I had to leave and go out on my own."

"Well, don't think we judge the folk who come from the bunkers," Tinker assured her and raised the hands of his mech defensively. "Or the ones who chose to stay. The folks around here, pirates and the like, tend to call you bunker rats or something of the sort. Very derogatory is what I say."

She nodded. "The pirates called me something like that. Well, the one who rode the Balthazar you're currently standing on."

"I don't much like them that hate on folks who know how to survive, no matter the manner, especially when it comes with a society," he said. He took a moment to realize that he was, in fact, standing on the mech that had been flattened by the Excalibur's hammer. "Well, I'll be fucked. Hammerhand does like to make him an entrance, but don't think there'll be much to salvage from a mess like this. It’s best when they're shot up or blown up. Well, no, best is shot like Carson does in there. Punches one right into the cockpit, kills the pilot, and leaves the mech intact and wide open for scrapping."

"Carson," she said and looked around. "Is that the one in the Sherlock?"

"You've a good eye for the models, little one." He glanced to where the other Knights had begun to take the fallen mechs apart. "Yeah, Carson's riding that Sherlock. He’s a shit pilot, between you and me, but he has one hell of a shooting eye and knows how to choose the target to shoot, so I'll never tell him that to his face. It’s good for him to have Taylor riding next to him in the Watson—keeps them all alive. They've fought together since before they joined the Knights Mechanica so they know what they're doing. Again, I won't ever say that to their faces."

"Are you a member of the Knights Mechanica?" Jessica13 asked and returned to her efforts to remove the rubble from Mini. "I mean no disrespect, of course—keep working on what’s around the legs, Mini, and I'll get the other arm free—but you don't look quite like the rest of them."

"You mean I don't coat my baby in cheap green paint and put little flags on her?" Tinker asked and raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you knew what they used to make that paint, you wouldn't want it on your…I'm thinking a Minato? They hard to find these days, honestly."

"You have a good eye too," she noted.

"Well, yes, but that's because I play the most important role in the Knight's Mechanica." Tinker moved closer and dragged a couple of the larger pieces of rubble away. "It’s right there in the name. I'm the Mechanic-a. I work all these mechs to their full potential, get them all roaring and humming and ready for a fight when they need to be. D’ya think these assholes could keep their own pieces running without me?"

"Fuck you, Tinker!" the pilot of the Raptor shouted, having listened to what they had discussed.

"Yeah, I'll remember that when it's the next time to oil your joints there, Bessie," the man yelled in response. Jessica13 couldn't tell if Bessie could hear him but the lack of any kind of response suggested that either she hadn't or she knew she needed him to keep doing good work on her mech.

"If you get you a big fucker that needs to bend over to fire off, you need a better grease feed into the joints or they gonna burn right the hell off," he said and shook his head. "I like the thought behind the design but that's lazy finishing."

"It seems like something that top-heavy wouldn't have a good way to get the oil all the way down

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