Tinker’s Saga Book 1: Tinker’s Gambit

Scavenging for parts to build something new, perhaps a new life

Tinker’s Gambit – 

The assembly line ground to a halt with a deafening screech, signaling the end of another grueling shift at the tank factory. Jax Thorne rolled his shoulders as the familiar ache of a day’s labor settled into his muscles. He winced and stretched, his joints popping in protest. The heavy smell of oil and metal shavings was omnipresent, a constant reminder that clung to his skin and hair when he left this place every day.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with a grimy forearm, leaving a smudge of oil across his forehead. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the stinging sensation from his eyes as he surveyed the factory floor. Harsh fluorescent lights cast long shadows across the hulking machinery, creating a maze of dark corners and hidden nooks.

Jax’s gaze darted from workstation to workstation, checking for any sign of lingering supervisors or overzealous coworkers. The coast seemed clear, everybody heading for the exit in a wave of bodies. No one bothered to look his way. He moved with practiced stealth, the ambient hum of cooling equipment and distant voices muffling his footsteps.

With nimble fingers, he selected spare parts from various stations, each movement calculated to avoid drawing attention. A gear here, its teeth worn but still serviceable. A coupling there, discarded due to a minor imperfection but perfect for his needs. He carefully chose each piece for his latest invention. The project consumed his thoughts during the mind-numbing hours on the assembly line.

After he gathered the last component from a nearby station, Jax paused to double-check the haul stashed in his bag. He ran his fingers over the purloined parts, mentally cataloging how they would fit into his design. He shifted some rags to keep the parts from banging and clanging against each other. Satisfied, he zipped the bag shut and slung it over his shoulder, wincing as the weight settled against his sore muscles.

Now came the tricky part. Getting out unnoticed. Jax’s heart rate quickened as he scanned the factory floor again. The throng of workers shuffling toward the exit provided the perfect cover, but timing was crucial. He watched the sea of tired faces and slumped shoulders, waiting for the right moment to blend in.

His gaze flicked to the foreman’s office, its door slightly ajar. A shadow moved within, and Jax tensed, his muscles coiling like springs. It was now or never. He drew a deep breath to steady his nerves and prepared to make his move.

Jax stepped forward, ready to lose himself in the crowd, when a booming voice cut through the din. “Thorne! Where are you, boy?”

The words sent a jolt of adrenaline through Jax’s system. He ducked behind a stack of crates, pressing his back against the cool metal wall. The rough surface caught at his shirt as he tried to make himself as small as possible. Heavy footsteps echoed through the factory, growing louder. Jax held his breath, his lungs burning as he willed himself to become invisible.

The foreman’s bulk passed inches from Jax’s hiding spot. The man’s scent, a pungent mix of cheap aftershave and stale sweat, assaulted Jax’s nostrils. He fought the urge to cough, every muscle rigid with tension.

“Damn it, Thorne,” the foreman muttered, pausing beside the crates. “Where’d that scrawny punk get to?”

Jax’s fingers tightened on the strap of his bag, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. But the foreman moved on, his gruff voice fading as he interrogated a group of departing workers. Jax sighed in relief, but he knew he wasn’t in the clear yet.

A game of cat and mouse ensued. Jax slipped from shadow to shadow, using machinery and stacks of supplies as cover. He caught glimpses of the foreman questioning workers, the man’s face growing redder with each fruitless interrogation. Jax’s original escape route was compromised. He needed a new plan.

His gaze landed on a side exit, propped open to combat the stifling heat. A warm breeze carried the mingled scents of exhaust fumes and distant cooking through the opening. It was risky, but it might be his only shot.

While inching closer to freedom, Jax’s foot caught on a loose bolt. He stumbled, his heart leaping into his throat as he barely caught himself before toppling into a pile of scrap metal. The clatter of shifting parts seemed deafening in the tense silence. Jax froze, certain he’d given himself away, but no shout of discovery came. He steadied himself and inhaled deeply, willing his racing pulse to slow.

The foreman’s back was turned, his attention focused on a group of workers near the main exit. Jax seized his chance. He sprinted for the side door, his footsteps light despite the weight of his stolen goods. 

He emerged from the factory into the cool early evening air and stepped onto the gantry walkway alongside the building’s flank. The corroded platform creaked ominously beneath him as he scuttled across and down the stairwell. Not daring to pause, he rounded a corner and heard the subdued voices of weary men and women.

He reached the front and, without breaking stride, merged into a group of workers heading home. He kept his head down and his movements casual, becoming part of the crowd with barely a nod from the few trudging alongside him.

They left the factory yard through the wrought iron gates, and a brisk breeze hit Jax’s face. He needed a shower, but the gust carried away some of the oppressive heat and stench of the factory. Feeling slightly refreshed, he fought the urge to break into a run, instead matching the pace of the other chattering workers.

At the first opportunity, Jax ducked down a side street, putting distance between himself and the factory’s looming silhouette. The sounds of the industrial district faded, replaced by the varied noises of the city proper. Street vendors called their wares, and the distant rumble of transport vehicles created a constant background hum.

When safely out of sight, he ducked into a quiet alley. The shadows deepened here, offering a welcome refuge from prying eyes. He set his bag on a discarded crate, carefully inspecting the stolen parts. The components gleamed dully in the fading light, full of potential. Jax grinned, his mind racing with possibilities for his latest contraption.

Lost in thought, he almost missed the whisper of movement behind him. Before he could react, something cold and hard pressed against his back.

“Don’t move,” a raspy voice commanded.

Jax’s body tensed. In one fluid motion, he spun, twisting to avoid exposing his back to what he assumed was a gun barrel. His hand shot out, grasping the weapon and wrenching it away. His foot lashed out, catching his assailant in the chest and sending them stumbling back into a pile of refuse.

Jax froze with his fist raised to deliver a finishing blow. His attacker was smaller than expected, and the object he’d seized was decidedly not a gun. It was a piece of rusty rebar.

“Lillian?” Jax sputtered, lowering his fist.

The figure straightened, pushing back a hood to reveal a familiar face, though changed by time and hardship. Lillian Mangst, his former colleague turned Resistance fighter, smirked wryly at him. Her formerly pristine lab coat was now a patchwork of repairs and camouflage patterns.

“Nice moves, Jax.” Her voice lost its affected rasp. “Good to see you haven’t gone soft.”

Relief washed over Jax, and he laughed shakily. The pair embraced briefly, the tension dissolving into genuine warmth. Lillian’s frame was leaner than he remembered, all sharp angles and wiry muscle.

“We wondered what happened to you after you joined up,” Jax remarked as they separated. “Glad to see you’re still kicking.”

Lillian’s familiar laugh held a new edge to it. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m not the one who needs worrying about.”

Jax frowned. He hefted his bag of stolen parts, but Lillian shook her head.

“This isn’t about your little liberation project.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s not safe to talk here. Follow me.”

Without waiting for a response, Lillian turned and melted into the shadows. Jax hesitated, glancing back toward the familiar streets that would lead him home. Yet, curiosity and a nagging sense of unease propelled him. He shouldered his bag and followed Lillian into the gathering dusk.

Pretty quick reflexes for a guy who “only” works in a factory. Find out how these hidden skills will help him in the future on February 25th, when Tinker’s Saga Book 1: Tinker’s Gambit is released. Until then head over to Amazon and download it today.