The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 14: Subtitles Required
“Toward somewhere,” ER said.
The blue line remained suspended across the dimensional model.
It emerged from the recorded signal, crossed the dark sphere at an angle Daniel could not interpret, and disappeared into a region the ship had not yet been able to calculate.
Neris stared at it.
Daniel stood beside her with one hand resting on the console, close to hers without touching.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
The words had not answered the question.
That made them more powerful than an answer might have been.
Somewhere could mean Xianglume.
Somewhere could mean another empty dimension.
Somewhere could mean a path that would take years to understand and seconds to destroy Takuhai if they attempted it incorrectly.
Daniel looked at Neris.
Her ears were angled toward the display, but her posture had begun to sag beneath the focus. The fresh cup of coffee sat near her paw, untouched since the second signal arrived.
“How long until you know more?” he asked.
ER replied, “The directional component requires comparison against the original transit record, the first echo, local gravitational conditions, and several assumptions I do not consider sufficiently supported.”
“So?”
“Between four and eleven hours.”
Daniel looked at the chronometer.
It was well past midnight.
Neris reached for the coffee without taking her eyes from the model. She lifted the cup to her mouth.
Nothing happened.
She tilted it farther.
Daniel watched.
Neris lowered the empty cup and looked inside.
“The beverage supply has failed.”
Daniel folded his arms.
“That’s what you got from that?”
“The cup is empty.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“The two conditions are not causally linked.”
ER said, “I have recorded the incident as evidence supporting Daniel’s assessment.”
Neris looked toward the nearest speaker.
“You are analysing the wrong problem.”
“I am analysing several problems simultaneously.”
“The signal—”
“Is preserved, isolated, and under continuous review. Your remaining awake will not accelerate the process.”
“I can verify your assumptions.”
“You can barely verify the contents of a cup.”
Daniel turned away before she saw him smile.
Her tail gave a small, irritated movement against the base of the chair.
“I am not going to sleep.”
“I didn’t say you had to,” Daniel said.
“You were about to.”
“I was about to say we should do something else while ER works.”
Neris blinked.
“Something else?”
“Yes.”
“There is no other useful repair available at this hour.”
“I didn’t say repair.”
That seemed to confuse her more.
Daniel sat on the edge of the adjacent console.
“What do you normally do when you can’t work?”
“I can work.”
“When you choose not to.”
She looked at him as though he had changed languages.
“I do not understand the distinction.”
“That’s becoming obvious.”
Her ears narrowed.
Daniel lifted both hands.
“I’m asking what you do for fun.”
Neris glanced toward the dimensional display, perhaps hoping it would rescue her from the question.
“Couriers have recreational options.”
“That sounds like something from an employee handbook.”
“It is not.”
“What kind of recreational options?”
“Music. Recorded performances. Interactive stories. Simulated environments. Competitive games. Communal narratives.”
“Communal narratives?”
“A story experienced by several participants whose choices alter its development.”
“Like a role-playing game?”
“I do not know.”
“It’s probably close enough.”
Neris considered this.
“There are also sensory compositions.”
“What are those?”
“Structured experiences involving sound, colour, vibration, scent and environmental temperature.”
Daniel looked around the lounge.
“You have movies that change the temperature?”
“Some productions use temperature as a narrative channel.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“Entertainment systems on Xianglume are more sophisticated than this one.”
ER said, “The lounge projector is adequate.”
“It has not been used since the accident,” Neris replied.
“It remains adequate in principle.”
Daniel looked toward the recessed display wall.
“Do you have anything we could watch?”
Neris hesitated.
ER did not.
“The pilot retains four thousand eight hundred and twelve hours of entertainment media.”
Daniel slowly turned toward her.
“You told me you travelled light.”
“Digital storage has negligible mass.”
“That isn’t what travelling light means.”
“It is exactly what it means in a cargo calculation.”
“Four thousand hours?”
“Some files were included automatically with the courier cultural-access package.”
“Three thousand seven hundred and six hours were deliberately selected,” ER said.
Neris’s tail struck the chair leg.
“That information was not relevant.”
“It directly addressed Daniel’s question.”
Daniel smiled.
“What kind of things did you deliberately select?”
Neris stood.
“A short recorded production might be appropriate while ER completes the analysis.”
“That was a very smooth subject change.”
“I disagree.”
“You would.”
She crossed the lounge toward the projector controls.
Daniel followed more slowly.
The wall display unfolded with a muted mechanical sound. A wide viewing surface extended from behind a flush panel, followed by two overhead emitters and a row of environmental sensors.
The image that appeared was purple.
Not tinted purple.
Entirely purple.
Neris stared at it.
ER said, “The colour calibration has degraded.”
Daniel nodded solemnly.
“Still adequate?”
“In principle.”
A figure moved across the display. Its mouth opened.
The voice arrived a noticeable moment later.
Daniel looked toward the ceiling.
“Did the actor forget what they were saying?”
“The audio synchronization is delayed by seventeen milliseconds.”
“That’s not seventeen milliseconds.”
“Twenty-nine.”
The delay lengthened.
“Forty-one.”
Neris opened a maintenance panel beside the screen.
“The secondary timing controller was disconnected during emergency power reduction.”
“I can compensate digitally,” ER said.
The figure on the screen raised one arm.
Its voice arrived after the arm had lowered.
Daniel shook his head.
“You’re going to need to compensate harder.”
For the next half-hour, movie night became another repair.
Neris removed the timing controller and found a cracked optical junction. Daniel held the light while she tried to reseat it. The first contact produced sound without an image. The second restored the image upside down.
Daniel looked at the inverted figure.
“That’s almost better.”
“It is not.”
“Depends on the movie.”
Neris removed the junction again.
A small maintenance manipulator extended from the wall and offered her a cleaning tool.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You are welcome.”
Daniel peered into the panel.
“Can you rotate the picture instead of fixing the part?”
“Yes,” ER said.
Neris looked toward the speaker.
“You said compensation was inadequate.”
“Rotation is simpler than synchronization.”
“Then why did you not rotate it twenty minutes ago?”
“You did not ask.”
Daniel lowered the work light.
“I’m starting to understand why you two work so well together.”
Neris reseated the junction with more force than necessary.
The image righted itself.
The audio arrived at the correct time.
The colours shifted from purple to something closer to natural, although every pale surface retained a faint green cast.
Daniel studied the result.
“Good enough.”
Neris looked offended.
Then she looked at the chronometer.
“Acceptable.”
“That’s alien for good enough.”
“It is not.”
ER said, “The semantic overlap is substantial.”
Neris ignored him.
Daniel returned to the farmhouse while she selected a Xianglume production. He came back carrying a canvas bag, two blankets, a metal pot with a lid, and a packet of unpopped corn.
Neris met him at the hatch.
“What is in the container?”
“Entertainment.”
“It sounds granular.”
“It is.”
He carried everything into the lounge and set the pot on a portable heating plate.
Neris watched him add oil and corn.
“You are cooking now.”
“Part of movie night.”
“You did not mention food.”
“I assumed it was universal.”
“It is not.”
Daniel placed the lid on the pot.
The first kernel exploded.
Neris jumped.
Her tail expanded behind her.
Daniel bit the inside of his cheek.
Another kernel struck the lid.
Then another.
Within seconds the pot filled with rapid impacts.
Neris took one step back.
“You are deliberately causing seeds to rupture.”
“Yes.”
“With heat.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they taste better afterward.”
“That is not intuitively obvious.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
He shook the pot across the heating plate while the kernels continued bursting inside.
Neris’s ears followed every impact.
“This method appears uncontrolled.”
“It’s completely controlled.”
A kernel forced the lid briefly upward and escaped onto the floor.
Neris looked at it.
Daniel looked at it.
ER said, “Control appears incomplete.”
Daniel retrieved the escaped popcorn.
“Minor containment failure.”
When the popping slowed, he removed the lid. Steam rose from the pot, carrying the warm smell of toasted corn and oil.
Neris leaned closer.
Her suspicion did not disappear, but curiosity overtook it.
Daniel poured the popcorn into a large bowl and added melted butter and salt.
Neris selected one piece between two claws.
She examined it from several angles.
“You can just eat it.”
“I am aware.”
She placed it in her mouth.
Her ears lifted.
Daniel waited.
Neris took a second piece.
“Well?”
“The structural transformation is unexpectedly effective.”
“You like it.”
“I did not say that.”
She took a third.
Daniel carried the bowl toward the couch.
Neris followed closely enough that he had to hide his smile.
The dimensional analysis continued on a smaller display near the wall. ER minimized it when Daniel spread the blankets across the couch.
Neris noticed.
“You do not need to conceal the model.”
“I have not concealed it. I have reduced its visual priority.”
“Why?”
“To support the selected recreational objective.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“You’re getting good at this.”
“I have extensive experience managing the pilot’s attention.”
Neris sat at one end of the couch.
“That statement is misleading.”
“It is supported by thirty-two years of data.”
“You did not know me for the first portion of my life.”
“I have reviewed your educational and medical records.”
“That is not the same as knowing me.”
“No,” ER said.
The reply was quieter than expected.
Neris looked toward the nearest display.
Daniel settled at the opposite end of the couch and placed the bowl between them.
“What are we watching?”
Neris straightened.
“A comedy-adventure produced on Xianglume approximately fourteen years ago.”
“About?”
“A courier crew transporting a ceremonial object through three systems while repeatedly receiving contradictory delivery instructions.”
Daniel waited.
“That’s the adventure?”
“The object is incorrectly identified as sacred by two governments, stolen by a theatrical troupe, and temporarily elected to municipal office.”
Daniel looked at her.
“The object gets elected?”
“The municipality’s eligibility requirements are poorly drafted.”
ER said, “The production is considered a classic.”
Neris’s ears angled back.
“It is popular.”
“You have watched it twenty-three times,” ER added.
Daniel leaned toward her.
“Twenty-three?”
“Some viewings were incomplete.”
“Twenty-three.”
“It was available.”
“That’s your defence?”
“I do not require one.”
The film began.
The first image showed a vast orbital station surrounded by ships of dozens of different designs. The soundtrack combined deep percussion with a rising vibration Daniel felt through the couch more than heard.
He sat forward.
“That’s impressive.”
“The original includes atmospheric scent cues,” Neris said.
“What am I missing?”
“The opening sequence would smell faintly of heated stone, industrial coolant and rain.”
Daniel stared at the screen.
“Why rain?”
“It establishes the courier captain’s emotional state.”
“Of course it does.”
The first major joke occurred less than a minute later.
A mephit courier entered a customs chamber with her tail held at an unusual angle. Every official in the room immediately turned away.
Daniel waited.
Nothing else happened.
Neris laughed.
Not politely.
Not the small sound she made when Daniel surprised her.
She laughed openly, ears high, one paw covering her muzzle.
Daniel looked from her to the screen.
“What did I miss?”
Neris tried to answer and failed.
ER said, “The courier has positioned her tail in a manner associated with aggressive romantic confidence.”
Daniel watched the character cross the room while the officials refused to look at her.
“That’s considered romantic?”
“In context,” Neris said, recovering, “it suggests she has selected every individual present as a potential partner.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“That is confident.”
“It is socially catastrophic.”
Daniel glanced at Neris’s tail.
She immediately pulled it closer against the couch.
“Do not attempt to reproduce it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Your expression indicates otherwise.”
ER said, “A maintenance manipulator could approximate the angle for educational purposes.”
“No,” they said together.
The film continued.
Daniel laughed at physical jokes Neris had apparently never considered particularly clever. Neris paused twice to explain political references and once to clarify that a translation rendered the phrase “honoured transit authority” more respectfully than it deserved.
A ship in the production suffered an engine failure and drifted helplessly toward a customs platform.
Daniel pointed.
“Wouldn’t they have backup steering?”
Neris frowned.
“They should.”
“The pilot doesn’t use it.”
“That is unrealistic.”
“It’s your movie.”
“The production is fictional.”
Daniel turned toward her.
“So your people are allowed to ignore reality for entertainment.”
“Within established artistic parameters.”
“But human errors are unacceptable?”
“We have not watched a human production.”
“Yet.”
Neris selected another piece of popcorn and looked away.
Halfway through the film, she stood and retrieved a small metal container from a storage compartment.
Daniel paused the playback.
“What’s that?”
“Seasoning.”
“You had seasoning this whole time?”
“It is intended for standardized courier meals.”
She opened the container.
A fine amber powder covered the bottom.
Daniel smelled smoke, something sweet, and a sharper note he could not identify.
Neris sprinkled a cautious amount over one side of the popcorn.
“Is it hot?”
“Not in the manner you mean.”
“That sounds evasive.”
“It contains a cooling compound.”
“Like mint?”
“No.”
“Close?”
“No.”
He tried a piece.
The first taste was smoky and slightly sweet. Then came something bright and citrus-like, followed by a cooling sensation that spread across his tongue and into the roof of his mouth.
Daniel nodded.
“That’s good.”
Neris’s ears lifted.
“You approve?”
He added more seasoning.
“You should not—”
Daniel ate another handful.
The cooling sensation intensified.
His eyes watered.
Neris put down her own popcorn.
“Are you experiencing an allergic response?”
“No.”
“Pain?”
“A little.”
“Respiratory difficulty?”
“No.”
“Then why are your eyes producing fluid?”
Daniel reached for another handful.
“It’s good.”
ER said, “Daniel has encountered discomfort and interpreted it as a challenge.”
Neris stared at him.
“Is that a human trait?”
“It is a Daniel trait with substantial overlap.”
“I’m fine,” Daniel said.
“You are visibly suffering.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That is not a meaningful standard.”
He continued eating.
Neris watched in disbelief for several seconds.
Then she quietly added more of the seasoning to her own side of the bowl.
Daniel noticed.
She pretended not to.
By the end of the Xianglume film, the ceremonial object had been delivered to the wrong planet, the courier crew had been publicly commended for preventing a diplomatic crisis they had caused, and the object had retained its elected office through a procedural appeal.
Daniel leaned back.
“I liked it.”
Neris looked pleased despite attempting not to.
“You understood very little of it.”
“Still liked it.”
“The translation omitted several important humour channels.”
“You explained most of them.”
“I explained only those necessary for comprehension.”
ER said, “The pilot supplied commentary during sixty-eight percent of the running time.”
Neris’s tail flicked.
Daniel smiled.
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