The turbotrain platform was thick with artificial sentients. The volatile nature of fuel cell manufacture required the Aetherwerx production hub be far from human population centers. As one shift exited, the next boarded.

Sixteen Forty-Eight shuffled shoulder to shoulder through the low doorway with the other sentient matrix weavers. He reached up and tapped the white blood sign: White Bloods for Red Bloods-Give Your All and Earn Your Place. Sixteen was old-lot. Grateful for the opportunity to serve the red blood humans. The newer lots seemed to have hatched discontented.

 

The safety warnings in the locker room reminded them that it was an honor to serve the reds and that safety was paramount: Aetherwerx had been accident-free for seven years, but any cut in their skin could result in a matrix cascade. After taking off his hair, Sixteen scanned his skin for cuts the matrix could enter, donned his uniform, and detoured to the abandoned weaving sector.

 

Yellow and black signs stuck to the peeling paint where Aetherwerx had sealed off Sector 1 after the last accident. Cascade Danger, Live Matrix, they warned. The response team had contained the cascade but lost two weeks of production and thirteen weavers. Sixteen knelt where nobody could see him. Unfolding the stained tissue, he revealed the dark crumbs of nutrient cake, and let out a noise he’d heard reds make calling their pets.

 

A pink nose wiggled from a chink in the bricks. The white mouse scurried toward Sixteen. With one finger, he stroked from behind its ears to the root of its tail. The mouse ate its fill and waddled back to the brick. It took extra effort to squeeze its full stomach into the crack. Sixteen sometimes worried the mouse might cut itself and reactivate the dormant matrix. Slipping from the alcove, he rejoined the flow of sentients on their way to Weaving Sector 2.

 

The red blood foremen watched the weavers approach. One glared at Sixteen from his booth, mouthing ‘glint’ as Sixteen walked into the decontamination portal. Human jealousy, he decided.

 

Sixteen trudged through the electrostatic fog to his matrix loom. This hazardous work was why the red bloods created white bloods. They said that weaving matrix was like playing a theremin. Sixteen had never seen a theremin, so he couldn’t be sure if that was true or not. Waving his arms, he guided the particles to adhere to the static mesh.

 

A cry cut through the buzzing mist from the loom behind. Sixteen stayed focused, tremoring his hand to thicken the particles on the mesh. The cry loudened.

Sixteen liked to think he was the only weaver that used the hand tremoring technique to thicken the matrix and that red bloods throughout the solar system specifically requested fuel cells made at Aetherwerx 1, Sector 2, Loom 13, by white blood 1648. He felt a special accident had occurred when he hatched.

The cry intensified to a scream. Gurgling of broken tubes carried on the static mist. At the adjacent loom, he found a weaver cut through by matrix. ‘Stupid glint,’ he felt ashamed for thinking.

 

Where the matrix cascade penetrated, milky fluid gurgled from the sentient’s tubes. Sixteen froze as the matrix tunneled up the weaver’s throat and out its mouth and nostrils. When the weaver’s eyes opaqued, Sixteen broke through the electrostatic mist to the emergency shutdown. ‘Stupid glint,’ he thought again. It didn’t take extra time to be careful. Sixteen wouldn’t meet quota today. No one in his sector would. He slammed his hand on the red knob.

 

The electrostatic buzz ceased, the powder fell to the floor, and the weavers dropped their arms. Skirting the growing cascade, weavers evacuated the section faster than a shift change. The spreading matrix cut and encased stragglers too caught up in their work. Outside, foremen yelled for bricks to stop the cascade.

 

There would be no work until the cascade found its end point and Aetherwerx prepared a new sector. The other sentients seemed eager to leave. Sixteen dreaded the downtime alone in his domicile. Maybe he could get on the construction crew, but Sixteen was an expert weaver; they’d never risk him cutting himself. He was too valuable.

 

Sixteen took his time changing, wondering when they’d reset the Accident-Free sign. He opened the crumpled tissue and picked out the matrix that had formed in the nutrient cake. Palming the tissue, he replaced his hair, zipped his travel suit, and slipped back to the alcove.

 

His friend hesitated, its nose sticking from the crack, like it sensed something bad had happened. Red bloods trudged past the alcove. ‘Glint,’ ‘Nullseed,’ and other slurs echoed in the hall as they transported the bricks to Weaving Sector 2.

 

Sixteen cradled the open tissue. The mouse climbed aboard and held a morsel between its front paws. With the same care he took weaving, Sixteen slipped the tissue, cake, and mouse into his pocket. Warm and full, the mouse settled down for a nap.

 

Sixteen exited Aetherwerx, touching White Bloods for Red Bloods-Give Your All and Earn Your Place sign on his way out. He worried other commuters would notice the bulge in his breast pocket, but no one even looked at him.

 

His heart was racing as he entered his domicile. The LEDs hummed on, casting a dim yellow on the spartan furnishings. He gathered a box and wastepaper to line it with. Sixteen reached into his pocket to deliver his friend to its new home. His hand jerked when the surprised mouse bit his finger.

 

A wound like that was a perfect entry for the matrix. If it didn’t heal correctly, Sixteen would be a cascade risk, and they’d reassign or decommission him. The mouse settled, letting him transfer it from pocket to box. A dot of red showed on the wastepaper, a smudge on the mouse’s white fur.

Sixteen looked at his fingertip. His blood was red.