Read Online LEGACY RISING by Rachel Eastwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rachel Eastwood
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the run. He needed a new filter. The damn rebreather was constantly cycling through parts. Legacy stared at him a moment longer, her eyebrows twisted with concern, until Trimpot’s words called her away.
“Home, sweet home,” he announced, gesturing with flourish to the expansive workshop. He clearly wanted attention, and perhaps he deserved it. After all, the CC headquarters were hidden entirely within what Legacy had always assumed was nothing more than some sort of decoration to stave off a deeper ennui.
“How can this place be?” she asked herself, following Trimpot down the center row of an expansive workshop.
“It was always hollow,” a voice answered from her left. Stooped over some type of glass cannon was a bespectacled boy with black dreadlocks much like her own braids, his wrapped into a bun and speared with a writing utensil. He didn’t look up from his work, and so could not track her expression as it went through various states of confusion. It wasn’t that the concepts were so difficult to grasp; it was that he was talking so fast. “It only needed to have the opening cut, and the mechanisms in place to open and close, and then, of course, the plaque on that statue needed to be modified, and that was the hardest part, if you ask me, because we had to forge a work order for the plaque to be refitted, then intercept its delivery with impeccable timing, and this all had to be finished within a certain time frame, obviously, but once we got all the parts working together, which was a matter of frequency, you know, the frequency of the signal between the device installed on the backside of the plaque, which had a dual trigger, that is, the vibration of the statue speaker on the word ‘freedom,’ in conjunction with the application of force, and then the device attached to the spokes and pulleys on the other side of this ‘mountain’ or ‘door’ would also awaken for exactly four seconds before snapping shut again, as you’ve seen, so all in all, it’s quite simple, if you ask me. It’s just a matter of synchronicity, the wrong person could easily stumble upon it, you know, but I doubt they’d understand what they’d seen or its correlation to their own action.”
Legacy found herself at an uncharacteristic loss for words.
“Wow,” Dax said. “What’s your name, brother?”
“Vector Shannon,” the boy said, looking up only to swing a handshake at Dax, then at Legacy. He smiled and pushed his glasses further up his pug nose. His wrists and palms were wrapped in tight gloves, which meant his work was delicate enough to cause arthritis. “Engineer and inventor, among other things.”
“What are you working on?” Legacy asked.
Vector winked. “Top secret, that is.”
“Come on,” Neon said, indicating the rest of the workshop. “Let me give you the tour .” His flourish first encompassed an intricate box which a teenaged, freckled blond boy was fastening to a safe. “This is our Cipher-Scope. It’s a recent production, and it can open any and all mechanical locks. Oh , and this is Levi Connelly.” Levi waved and smiled. Trimpot bent toward Legacy and Dax. “His placement scores were abysmal , but. He is loyal. Oh, and the Contemplator!” Trimpot sprang to the next table, which featured a crank, a system of gears, and a horn. There also appeared to be some thin filament between the gears. “Here, look ,” Trimpot said, churning the crank. “You just point it toward an automata and . . .” The horn unleashed an ear-splitting wail. Trimpot quickly stepped back and flashed the pair his most charming smile. “ It still has a . . . few kinks.”
A plump, blue-haired girl in a handkerchief skirt and boots
“Home, sweet home,” he announced, gesturing with flourish to the expansive workshop. He clearly wanted attention, and perhaps he deserved it. After all, the CC headquarters were hidden entirely within what Legacy had always assumed was nothing more than some sort of decoration to stave off a deeper ennui.
“How can this place be?” she asked herself, following Trimpot down the center row of an expansive workshop.
“It was always hollow,” a voice answered from her left. Stooped over some type of glass cannon was a bespectacled boy with black dreadlocks much like her own braids, his wrapped into a bun and speared with a writing utensil. He didn’t look up from his work, and so could not track her expression as it went through various states of confusion. It wasn’t that the concepts were so difficult to grasp; it was that he was talking so fast. “It only needed to have the opening cut, and the mechanisms in place to open and close, and then, of course, the plaque on that statue needed to be modified, and that was the hardest part, if you ask me, because we had to forge a work order for the plaque to be refitted, then intercept its delivery with impeccable timing, and this all had to be finished within a certain time frame, obviously, but once we got all the parts working together, which was a matter of frequency, you know, the frequency of the signal between the device installed on the backside of the plaque, which had a dual trigger, that is, the vibration of the statue speaker on the word ‘freedom,’ in conjunction with the application of force, and then the device attached to the spokes and pulleys on the other side of this ‘mountain’ or ‘door’ would also awaken for exactly four seconds before snapping shut again, as you’ve seen, so all in all, it’s quite simple, if you ask me. It’s just a matter of synchronicity, the wrong person could easily stumble upon it, you know, but I doubt they’d understand what they’d seen or its correlation to their own action.”
Legacy found herself at an uncharacteristic loss for words.
“Wow,” Dax said. “What’s your name, brother?”
“Vector Shannon,” the boy said, looking up only to swing a handshake at Dax, then at Legacy. He smiled and pushed his glasses further up his pug nose. His wrists and palms were wrapped in tight gloves, which meant his work was delicate enough to cause arthritis. “Engineer and inventor, among other things.”
“What are you working on?” Legacy asked.
Vector winked. “Top secret, that is.”
“Come on,” Neon said, indicating the rest of the workshop. “Let me give you the tour .” His flourish first encompassed an intricate box which a teenaged, freckled blond boy was fastening to a safe. “This is our Cipher-Scope. It’s a recent production, and it can open any and all mechanical locks. Oh , and this is Levi Connelly.” Levi waved and smiled. Trimpot bent toward Legacy and Dax. “His placement scores were abysmal , but. He is loyal. Oh, and the Contemplator!” Trimpot sprang to the next table, which featured a crank, a system of gears, and a horn. There also appeared to be some thin filament between the gears. “Here, look ,” Trimpot said, churning the crank. “You just point it toward an automata and . . .” The horn unleashed an ear-splitting wail. Trimpot quickly stepped back and flashed the pair his most charming smile. “ It still has a . . . few kinks.”
A plump, blue-haired girl in a handkerchief skirt and boots
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