She gathers the hem of her wrap and begins jogging up the steps, Taru hoofing it close behind her like a soldier on the march. They encounter only a few pedestrians in the confines of the staircase, and if any of them would’ve otherwise been possessed of ill intentions, seeing both of Taru’s fists white-knuckling the grips of two blades sheathed in well-worn leather is a deterrent pointing truer north than any individual’s moral compass.

Unlike the streets below, the circular platform is densely packed. The waiting passengers crowd around the four separate carriage berths. Yellow lines of warning are painted on the platform a foot from each edge, reminding the passengers that the berths are essentially large holes in the platform with five-story falls waiting on the other side.

Thick tracks extend from the center of each berth. Each hundred-foot length is carved from a single gargantuan forest star tree and reinforced with steel. They cast their shadow down on the center of virtually every street in the Capitol. Thick, coiled steel is pulled taut above each line of track, running past the open space of the berth and inside the column of the tower where it spools in massive wheels.

Pullers crew the god’s-arm levers attached to those wheels. If a passenger squints along the cable into the darkness of the tower interior they can see sweat pooled on muscled arms carved like granite. Their Gens marry hearty spouses to produce children with the size to become pullers. They spend the early years of those children’s lives training their arms and backs to be as solid as the sky carriage cables themselves.

Lexi is content to wait her turn at the edge of the crowd, but urged by Taru and through a combination of almost gentle nudging and even more almost-polite stares, they find themselves standing in front of the yellow line beside the nearest berth.

“You have many talents, my friend,” Lexi says to her retainer.

Taru doesn’t smile, but for a moment they don’t smile with less vehemence.

“My mother often said you are never truly defeated until you give up laughter,” Lexi adds.

Speaking the words summons another flood of memories, and her expression becomes somber.

“I regret not making her acquaintance,” Taru says.

“She would have adored you. Absolutely adored you. She had a sense of people.”

The great cable stretched above the berth in front of them begins grinding and snaking its way back inside the tower. Several minutes later the sky carriage begins to dock, the large rectangular enclosure rolling into the berth on its greased track (watching this, Lexi recalls idly that one of the last conversations she had with Brio was about Gen Adlonn successfully lobbying to receive the sky carriage grease concession, replacing Gen T’han after calling into question the efficacy of the grease they manufactured).