Page 16 of Jinxed
If I can pull this off, it will be a tinkering miracle.
IT DOES TAKE THE ENTIRE SUMMER, DOWN to the final hours. For the first time, I’m grateful that Zora has gone off to coding camp and that Mom works full time – it means I get away with working almostnon-stop without facing too many awkward questions.
The month of June I’d spent tackling the basics. That one blinking eye kept me motivated, even though it took me another week of dedicated tinkering before I made any more progress: a twitching paw.
I’d been so excited about that, I took Mom out for ice cream in the park (she was getting critically worried about my levels of vitamin D at thatpoint; I was spending so much time in the basement).
From the first paw, it was another few weeks (and most of July) before I got him standing on his own, then a matter of days until he was walking, the progress snowballing as I fixed the fundamental issues. I smoothed out all the dents and replaced the scorched parts with new. Whoever had made him had obviously spent a lot of time perfecting,scrutinizing, analyzing every component, because there were modifications in the tech that I had never come across before. Screws that were microscopic in size, wires so intricately knotted together they were like the plaits in Zora’s hair.
Thankfully, Paul had gifted me an old 3D printer of his a year ago, so once I’d managed (carefully, so carefully) to extract one of the screws, I was ableto map and print a copy of it. Gradually, as my confidence grew, I printed other parts. They weren’t as beautiful as the rest of him, but if I wanted him to walk, run and jump again, I’d have to deal.
That meant in August, scavenging became my new pastime.
Outside Monchaville, not everyone treats their bakus the same. For the most part, people are careful and respectful – but others treat themroughly, pushing the limits of the machines until they burn out or break down. Some people –richpeople – act as if they’re disposable. Replaceable. And when they get bored, some of the people don’t even take advantage of the recycling program Moncha offered, but put their old bakus in the trash and head to the Moncha Store to buy a new one.
That’s where I came in. I salvaged the broken or forgottenbakus and I used them for Jinx’s parts. I was mercenary about it. Nothing was sacred.
And, with every piece of Jinx I took apart to clean or replace, I searched for the signature of the companioneer who created him.
‘Who made you?’ I whispered to him.
I hadn’t got around to fixing his speakers yet, so he couldn’t respond to me.
But the signature had to be there somewhere, and I was desperateto find it. Using Jinx’s browser, I searched the Moncha forums for some of the new tech I had seen, in an attempt to trace it back to the original owner. All I needed was a name, a symbol, a scrawl, something.
But Jinx was like nothing I’d ever seen before. And his creator remained an enigma. A mystery.
But as for who was fixing him, who was bringing him back to life – that was not.
That wasall me.
It takes me right up until the night before I’m due to start at Profectus. I’m so close to having a fully functioning level 3 baku, but I know they’re not going to allow me through the doors unless I get the final element of Jinx’s operating system working: communication.
When I get downstairs, Jinx struts around the locker, leaping up on to the desk, the shelving, then skirting thevery top of the cage, agile as a real cat. A surge of affection rushes through me as I watch his perfect movement. I’ve done well.
‘Jinx, to me!’ I say, alongside a crooked-arm gesture for him to return. If Jinx had been anormalbaku, that would have worked. Instead, he stares at me from his perch on the highest shelf and blinks, once.
I frown. It’s so late, it’s early – only hours before I’msupposed to be in my uniform and heading to the school gates – and my eyes are burning with the desire to sleep. But I have to fix this one last thing or else I’ll be showing up at Profectus with a baku that doesn’t follow commands and an entire summer’s worth of work wasted.
I take a sip of highly caffeinated soda, ready for one last burst of energy. Clambering up on to the desk, I reach outwith one arm towards Jinx, the other hand tightly clutching the wire mesh for support. Just as my fingers are about to grab him, he leaps down off the shelf and on to the desk, where he sits down and licks at his paw.
I groan. ‘Seriously?’
I get down off the deskmuchless gracefully than Jinx, then sit down at the desk, folding my arms across my chest. For a moment we stare at each other, girland machine, unblinking.
I spot that there’s a loose wire running from his front paw to the motherboard. It’s a minor fix, but fixing something small might help me feel a sense of accomplishment that will lead to a bigger breakthrough. (That’s the idea, anyway.) My mind is on how to fix his speakers so he can communicate with me, so I’m a little burly with my technique, forcing one of the metalwires back into place and holding it down with a piece of duct tape as I solder. Crude, but it works. I leash him up to my ear to give him a bit of extra charge.
And then in my ear, I hear a voice:
>>Jeez, could you be a bit more gentle next time? That hurt.
He sounds... like an annoyed kid whose foot I’d just stepped on.
I almost jump out of my skin. ‘What the hell?’ I say, pawing at theleashing around my ear.
>>You can disconnect us, but that won’t change anything.
Jinx?I say his name in my thoughts, and I hear his laughter in my ear.
