The thump of a cane steered Sol toward a storage room, shelves overflowing with various sized artificial limbs and mechanical parts. The chaotic mess seemed to have some categorical logic behind the discarded clutter. A clank sounded as Sol's foot clipped a shadowy object in his path, obscured by the patchy overhead light.

"Grab that box, boy," the man's voice drifted to him from the other side of a crammed tower of technology. "I just need to get a few more items."

The box was heavier than it looked. Sol cradled it against his chest, noticing the assortment of metal hands resting on top.

The shuffle-tap combo alerted him to the man's return. He passed under a stream of yellow light, revealing lines and wrinkles that mapped his long life. His stride ate up the distance while the cane steadied the occasional wobble to those steps. He was the oldest man Sol had ever seen.

The man dumped a handful of tools that rattled their way to the bottom of the box. "Keep up, boy," he said in passing.

Sol shifted the box to get a better grip. "Sir—"

"None of that sir crap. The name's Hugo."

Hugo didn't wait for him, keeping a steady clip several paces ahead. Sol jostled the box, picking up his pace. His guide turned into a barren closet. Stepping over the lip, Sol recognized the tech embedded in the flooring. "Why is the trans enclosed?"

"It's a secure trans, requiring authorized clearance to use." Hugo placed his palm on the wall. "Transfer plus one to main hospital, cybernetics wing."

The door hissed closed, and the floor glowed. Sol's stomach dropped, feeling like he was falling. The vertigo lasted a moment before the door opened.

The murmur of voices and patter of feet rang out. Hugo added to the noise as he hastened out of the trans. Sol rushed to follow among the chaos of people bustling around him.

Hugo led them into a vacant room that looked more like a workshop than a hospital room. He used his cane to gesture at the long table dominating the room. "Start laying out the parts sorted by smallest to largest." Hugo shut the door on his way out, diminishing the noise of activity.

Not sure what he had gotten himself into, Sol deposited the box onto the table. Metal hands reached out from the box in frozen postures of stillness. He soon learned he couldn't eyeball the sizes but had to tilt each appendage for the light to shine on the engraved numbering system. Time passed as he got into a groove, sorting the sizes. When Hugo still hadn't returned, he started on organizing the tools, bolts, screws, and other odds and ends.

"You have a good eye."

Sol jerked up from his hunched position, dropping a screwdriver. "You startled me."

Hugo snorted and pointed at the corner of the room. "Trans tend to be quiet."

Sol walked around the worktable and spotted the discrete lip of a small trans unit on the floor. Eight days from the Academy and already he was slipping.

Hugo inspected Sol's work, nodding in approval. "A good eye and organized. Good. Good." Hugo shuffled over to him. "What about your hands?"

"My hands?"

Hugo lifted a liver-spotted hand that shook with tremors. "Did you think I only needed you to cart my stuff? I need your hands."

Sol opened his mouth, but the knocking at the door stopped his attempt at explaining his lack of cybernetics knowledge. The Academy didn't provide courses like engineering or mechanics. They geared their education toward a different slant.

Hugo ushered in a man and little girl. "Mr. Williams. Lisbeth. Take a seat."

Hugo shot Sol a pointed glance, waggling his fingers at the small pile of tools still unsorted. Taking the hint, Sol finished his task while listening in on Hugo's conversation with Mr. Williams. The girl, Lisbeth, had lost her hand in an accident at a young age, and the current artificial limb was too small for her growing body. Her father could not afford to buy her a state-of-the-art replacement, so they had come to the Institute hoping for their help with any outdated or used parts they could offer at a discounted price.

Patches covered the worn spots of Lisbeth's dress and a frayed ribbon held her braid in place. A lump formed in Sol's throat. He had lived on scraps and cast-offs himself as a child.

Hugo snapped his fingers. "Bring me the L3 and A8 drivers."

Sol scanned the array of screwdrivers. He handed them to Hugo only to have the man wave him toward Lisbeth. Hugo used his cane to pull out a stool from under the table, and with a firm hand had Sol seated, facing the girl. Hugo instructed him in a low voice on how to remove the old hand. His gruff voice and blunt orders caused their patient to curl herself inward, hiding her arm.

Sol leaned toward Lisbeth and whispered, "They're not really caterpillars, you know."

Lisbeth peaked at him. "What aren't?"

He kept eye contact with her and nodded toward Hugo. "His eyebrows."

Lisbeth frowned, eyes darting between him and Hugo.

Sol leaned in closer. "When he was napping, I tried to pluck them off. That's how I know they're just hair."

Lisbeth's mouth dropped open. Her eyes widened.

"If you think he's grouchy now..." Sol shook his head in mock remembrance as he leaned back, drawing her limb out from the shelter of her body.

A small smile crept on her face, matching his own. Then a giggle came out of her. Lisbeth drew closer to him. "You didn't."

Sol gave a mock look of offense. "I had to be sure. Wouldn't you want to know if you had to work with him every day?"

A belly laugh burst from her. Sol shifted the conversation, asking about her own hijinks and childhood antics as he went to work. She lit up and grew animated, sharing her own stories. Sol listened with half an ear, focused more on Hugo's curt directions, but it was enough to keep her talking and distracted as they refitted her with a new hand.

The procedure was more complex than Sol had assumed, with all the intricate connections necessary for her body to operate the mechanical appendage. Hugo's keen intellect and Sol's dexterous fingers created an efficient partnership. Once completed, the girl moved the hand as if it was made of bone and muscles instead of metal and wires.

The true surprise came when Hugo dipped her hand into a bucket of clear liquid. Before their eyes, the metal shifted in color until it matched her skin tone. As she pulled her hand out, it matched the appearance of her uninjured hand. Hugo refused any payment from them. She was now part of a testing group to see how this experimental substance performed. He requested she return once a month for them to run tests on her new hand.

When the family left, Sol rose out of his chair, stretching his arms overhead to release the pinch in his lower back. He hadn't noticed the passing of time, but his body had.

"Caterpillar eyebrows, huh?"

Sol froze before he forced his muscles to relax. More Academy training. Never let your opponent know your emotional state. "About that—"

"It was good thinking." Hugo gave Sol a solid pat on the back. "Steady hands," he raised one of his bushy eyebrows, "and a way with people." Hugo gave another pat before heading toward the trans, waving at Sol to follow.

Sol released his breath and stepped onto the platform.

"But clearly your schooling didn't include advanced biology. Nor engineering."

Sol opened his mouth with some choice words on the tip of his tongue, but the trans activated, stealing his breath. The brief wave of vertigo narrowed Sol's vision, but he braced his legs until it passed.

"At least they taught you control over your own body. So many Speakers come here without basic discipline, struggling to master themselves."

Sol noticed two things at once. First, Hugo's intense gaze made Sol suspect this meeting had been a test, and, somehow, he had impressed him. Second, they weren't back in the storage area. Orange sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a soft hue to the rows upon rows of books covering the walls.

"My personal library." Hugo's cane made muffled thumps against the rugs covering the wooden floor.

He tapped on the desk. An interface projection appeared. Several quick strokes and a keycard materialized. The dazzling color of particles forming to create solid matter was technology Sol had only heard about, never seen. He drank in the sight as Hugo's words replayed in his head.

"You know who I am."

Hugo wheezed with laughter. "I wouldn't say that. Everyone knows what you are, but I doubt many know who you are." Hugo offered the keycard to Sol. "This'll give you access to this library, the backdoor to the storage facility, and to use the secure trans with limited access—just to the hospital and here."

The card felt warm in Sol's hand. This was what he had wanted: access. Still, he was tentative about accepting the offered gift.

Hugo pulled several books off the shelves and deposited them onto a desk tucked away in the corner. "You can start with these. I expect you here by sunrise, studying. In the afternoons, I'll come by whenever I need you for a task. The evenings are yours to do as you wish."

Hugo didn't wait for an answer. He was out the door and gone before Sol had even decided if he would obey or not.

Wandering over to the desk, Sol drew a finger across the leather-bond spines: Ancient Earth History and Culture, Anatomy, Essentials of Medical Physiology, Advanced Cybernetics. Curiosity replaced his questions over Hugo's intentions. He tapped the keycard against his palm, then pulled out a chair and opened the first book.