The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 15: The Long Baseline
Daniel woke because something heavy had gone numb.
For several seconds, he did not know where he was.
The room was dim. A faint blue glow moved across the opposite wall, too soft to be morning light and too steady to be fire. Machinery hummed beneath him. Somewhere nearby, an artificial voice was speaking very quietly.
Then memory returned in pieces.
The films.
The popcorn.
The signal.
Neris.
Daniel opened his eyes fully.
Her head rested against his shoulder.
One of her ears had folded slightly beneath the weight of sleep, the pale fur along its edge flattened against his jacket. Her breathing was slow and even. The enormous striped length of her tail lay across both his legs beneath the blanket, warm enough to explain why everything below his knees had disappeared from sensation.
His right hand rested loosely in the fur.
Daniel did not remember putting it there.
The fur was softer than it looked, dense beneath the longer outer layer. It carried the faint spice he had come to associate with Neris herself and, beneath it, the citrus-and-chocolate trace of the grooming oil from Xianglume.
The scent no longer registered as unfamiliar.
That realization woke him more effectively than the numbness.
The lounge display had gone dark. Only the smaller diagnostic panel remained active, showing the faint twelve-part waveform and a slowly changing field of calculations.
ER’s voice came from the nearest speaker.
“The household remains stable.”
Daniel remained very still.
“That’s good.”
“The cattle are becoming less so.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“What time is it?”
“Seven twenty-three.”
He opened them again.
“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”
“You required sleep.”
“The cattle require breakfast.”
“I have been tracking the escalation of their dissatisfaction.”
“How bad?”
“Three animals have repeatedly struck the feed-yard gate. One has discovered that the loose lower hinge produces a rewarding sound.”
Daniel sighed.
“That’ll be Mabel.”
“Correct.”
He looked down at Neris.
Moving his left leg accomplished nothing. Her tail had settled more firmly than any weighted blanket he had ever owned.
“How am I supposed to get up?”
“I could deploy a maintenance manipulator.”
“No.”
“I had not yet described the procedure.”
“That’s why I said it early.”
Neris stirred.
Daniel froze.
Her ear unfolded slowly. Her eyes opened halfway, unfocused at first, then sharpened as she became aware of the room.
Then of him.
Then of where her tail was.
The change travelled through her in a visible sequence. Her eyes widened. Her ears lifted. Her shoulders went rigid.
The tail remained exactly where it was.
For one suspended moment, neither of them moved.
“Good morning,” Daniel said.
Neris looked down at his hand in her fur.
Then back at him.
“Good morning.”
“You sleep all right?”
Her ears angled outward.
“Yes.”
The answer was quiet, but it came without qualification.
Daniel nodded.
“So did I.”
That seemed to make the moment harder and easier at the same time.
Neris withdrew her tail carefully. The weight slid from his legs, leaving them tingling with sudden returning sensation. Daniel moved his hand only when the fur passed beneath it.
She sat upright and adjusted the blanket across her lap.
“I did not intend to—”
“Fall asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Neither did I.”
“That does not address the position in which we woke.”
“No.”
She waited.
Daniel rubbed circulation back into one knee.
“I’m not sorry.”
Neris became still.
Neither apologetic nor defensive.
Simply listening.
After a moment, she said, “Neither am I.”
ER spoke.
“I have recorded no unnecessary visual material.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“That’s a very specific reassurance.”
“You both display elevated concern regarding privacy after periods of unconscious physical proximity.”
Neris turned toward the ceiling.
“You monitored us.”
“I monitored biological status, environmental conditions, ship safety, external sensors, the cattle-yard water system, the farmhouse alarm network, and the dimensional receiver.”
Daniel stretched one leg cautiously.
“So no pictures?”
“No.”
“Not even one?”
Neris looked at him.
Daniel lifted a hand.
“Just checking.”
ER continued, “The event was not historically significant.”
Daniel looked toward the small status panel.
On it, beneath the signal calculations, three lines remained visible.
Entertainment review incomplete.
Signal monitoring active.
Household status: stable.
Daniel pointed.
“You changed the log from crew to household.”
A pause followed.
“The document has been classified.”
Neris’s tail gave one soft movement against the couch.
Daniel smiled.
“Thought so.”
“The cattle,” ER said, “remain unamused by your emotional progress.”
That ended the morning gently enough.
They dressed quickly.
Daniel discovered a piece of popcorn inside his shirt pocket and another pressed flat beneath one boot. Neris found nothing until they reached the hatch and ER said, “Pilot, there is a foreign object embedded near the lower third of your tail.”
She stopped.
Daniel looked.
A single piece of popcorn clung stubbornly to the thick black fur.
Neris twisted to reach it.
Her tail moved in the opposite direction.
Daniel bit his lip.
“Do not.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You are preparing to.”
“I was going to offer help.”
“You were going to laugh.”
“Could do both.”
Her ears flattened.
The popcorn remained beyond the easy reach of her paws.
Daniel held out one hand.
“May I?”
Neris looked toward him, then at the offending piece.
“Yes.”
He stepped closer and worked it free with two fingers.
The fur beneath carried warmth from sleep.
Daniel placed the popcorn in his palm.
“Containment failure.”
ER said, “Entertainment-area decontamination was incomplete.”
Neris took the popcorn from Daniel and dropped it into the waste slot.
“This event is not to be logged.”
“It already has been.”
“Delete it.”
“I will classify it.”
Daniel pulled on his gloves.
“Classified popcorn. Serious business.”
Neris walked out into the morning before either of them could continue.
The cold met them at the hatch.
Overnight snow had deepened the clearing, smoothing the tracks between Takuhai and the farmhouse until only shallow depressions remained. The sky was pale and low, the kind of northern Ontario morning that seemed undecided about whether dawn had actually finished.
Daniel checked the yard as they crossed it.
Snow had drifted against the north side of the feed shed. The lane showed no fresh vehicle tracks. Smoke rose nearly straight from the farmhouse chimney, suggesting the wind had not yet strengthened.
At the cattle yard, Mabel struck the gate again.
The lower hinge clanged.
Daniel pointed.
“There she is.”
Neris studied the black cow standing with her broad forehead close to the metal.
“She appears pleased with herself.”
“She’s discovered an instrument.”
Mabel hit the gate.
Clang.
ER’s voice came through the communicator clipped inside Daniel’s coat.
“The rhythm is inconsistent.”
“She’s self-taught,” Daniel said.
The cattle gathered as Daniel approached the tractor and feed wagon. Their breath hung over the rails. Snow lay along their backs where they had stood outside the shelter, the dark hair beneath keeping the flakes from melting quickly.
Neris moved beside him, no longer hesitant around the herd but still watchful.
“Do they always know when you intend to feed them?”
“They know when I exist.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“To cattle, it often is.”
Daniel climbed into the tractor.
The engine turned once and stopped.
He tried again.
A slow mechanical groan came from beneath the hood.
Neris stood beside the cab.
“Battery?”
“Cold hydraulics. Maybe battery too.”
He cycled the glow plugs and waited.
The tractor started on the third attempt with an uneven roar. Diesel exhaust rolled briefly across the yard.
Neris stepped away from it.
“Your combustion systems remain offensive.”
“You said that about coffee.”
“I have revised my opinion of coffee.”
“Progress.”
“I have not revised my opinion of exhaust.”
Daniel let the engine warm while he checked the feed wagon.
The silage had frozen along the upper edges during the night. He broke the crust with a long-handled fork while Neris watched the mixture beneath: chopped grass and clover, darker silage, grain, mineral supplement.
“This is prepared for them specifically?”
“Balanced for winter.”
She leaned closer.
“It smells fermented.”
“It is.”
“Intentionally?”
“Yes.”
“You preserve cattle food through controlled microbial action.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“And then combine it with dried forage, grain and mineral compounds according to biological requirements.”
“Yes.”
Neris looked toward the animals waiting at the fence.
“You operate a life-support system.”
Daniel drove the fork into another frozen section.
“Don’t tell them that. They’ll expect better service.”
Mabel struck the gate again.
Clang.
Neris’s ears moved toward the sound.
“I believe expectations are already high.”
They worked through the morning routine.
Daniel loaded hay from the covered storage bay while Neris cut away frozen twine and stacked it for disposal. They checked the repaired waterer, where the replacement element continued to hold and the improvised clamp showed no sign of heating.
Daniel tested the water temperature with two fingers.
Neris watched.
“You have an instrument.”
“My fingers work.”
“Your fingers are already damaged.”
“They’re bandaged.”
“That does not make them sensors.”
“They’ve been sensors for forty-two years.”
She looked at him.
“You are forty-two?”
Daniel withdrew his hand from the trough.
“Last time I checked.”
“That is younger than I estimated.”
He stared at her.
“How old did you think I was?”
“I had not assigned a precise number.”
“That’s not what you said.”
“Rural labour produces visible wear.”
“Very diplomatic.”
“Was the answer inaccurate?”
Daniel shook water from his hand.
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
He nodded.
“That’s younger than I estimated.”
Neris narrowed her eyes.
“You are retaliating.”
“Rural labour produces habits.”
ER said, “I have updated both age estimates in the household record.”
“No one asked you,” Daniel replied.
“Accuracy remains useful.”
By the time the cattle had begun eating, the sun was only a pale brightness behind the cloud cover. Daniel climbed down from the tractor and brushed feed dust from his jacket.
The animals settled along the bunk, shoulders pressed close, the sound of chewing replacing the earlier gate music.
Neris watched them.
“They become calm quickly.”
“Full stomachs solve a lot.”
“For humans as well?”
“Depends on the human.”
She looked toward the distant line of trees hiding Takuhai.
“Did you become calmer after the popcorn?”
Daniel considered.
“Eventually.”
“You continued eating after discomfort began.”
“It was good.”
“That remains irrational.”
“You used more seasoning than I did by the end.”
Neris turned away.
“That is unverified.”
“ER?”
“The pilot’s seasoning consumption exceeded Daniel’s by eleven percent.”
Her tail flicked snow toward the tractor tire.
Daniel smiled.
Then ER’s voice changed.
Not alarmed.
Focused.
“I have completed a preliminary analysis of the second echo.”
Neris turned back immediately.
The softness of the morning vanished from her posture, though not as completely as it would have the day before.
“Report.”
“The directional component remains ambiguous.”
Her ears lowered.
“How ambiguous?”
“Multiple dimensional trajectories remain compatible with the observed phase angle.”
Daniel leaned against the feed wagon.
“Because you only measured it from the ship?”
“Yes.”
ER continued, “A single receiver provides arrival orientation relative to Takuhai, but it cannot distinguish between several possible paths distorted by Earth’s gravity, planetary rotation, local magnetic conditions and the anomaly’s dimensional geometry.”
Neris folded her arms.
“We need parallax.”
“Correct.”
Daniel looked between them.
“Ordinary English.”
“We need to listen from somewhere else,” Neris said.
“How far?”
“Farther would be better.”
ER answered, “A secondary receiver positioned between eight hundred metres and two kilometres from Takuhai would provide a useful baseline without introducing excessive timing uncertainty.”
Daniel looked toward the rise beyond the feed fields.
“There’s an old weather mast on the west ridge.”
Neris followed his gaze.
“How far?”
“Little over a kilometre from the ship.”
“Power?”
“Solar battery. Or it used to be.”
“Clear view?”
“Best on the farm.”
She was already moving.
Daniel caught the sleeve of her jacket lightly.
“Where are you going?”
“To inspect it.”
“We’ll finish here first.”
“The cattle are feeding.”
“The wagon needs cleaning, the south shelter needs checking, and I need to see if the mast is still safe before anyone climbs it.”
“The signal may repeat.”
“ER said three to five days.”
“I said an initial estimate of three to five days,” ER corrected. “Confidence remains limited.”
Neris’s ears pressed back.
“Then delay is even less advisable.”
Daniel released her sleeve.
“It’s a thirty-year-old mast that hasn’t been serviced in at least five.”
“Four years and eight months,” ER said.
Daniel looked at the communicator.
“Not helping.”
“I prioritize record accuracy.”
Neris started toward the ridge again.
Daniel stepped in front of her.
“A signal home won’t help if you fall off a frozen tower.”
“I do not intend to fall.”
“Nobody schedules it.”
“I have climbed external ship structures during flight.”
“Good for you. This one’s been sitting through Moose River winters since before either of us met.”
“The structural load is easily evaluated.”
“Then we’ll evaluate it.”
“Now.”
“After the chores.”
Her tail stiffened behind her.
Daniel saw frustration gather in the tight line of her muzzle.
To her, each minute had become measurable against a vanishing possibility. Ordinary work must have seemed almost insulting beside it.
He softened his voice.
“The mast will still be there in an hour.”
“You cannot guarantee that.”
“I can guarantee the cattle won’t check their own shelter roof.”
For a moment he thought she would argue again.
Then she looked toward the feeding animals.
At the repaired waterer.
At the barn roof carrying a new layer of snow.
Her shoulders lowered slightly.
“One hour.”
“Probably less.”
“You said the mast has been unserviced for nearly five years.”
“That’s not the inspection time.”
“It may become the repair time.”
“Now you’re learning farming.”
The south shelter had lost part of its windbreak where a fastening strip had split during the night. Daniel and Neris replaced it together.
The work was simple but awkward. The sheet material stiffened in the cold, refusing to align with the existing holes. Daniel held it while Neris adjusted the brackets. Twice, wind caught the loose edge and snapped it against the frame.
On the second impact, her tail lashed with irritation.
Daniel said nothing.
Neris looked at him.
“You are laughing internally.”
“I’m respecting your struggle.”
“That is not a human expression.”
“It could be.”
They finished after forty minutes.
Neris checked the time twice.
Daniel pretended not to notice.
The weather mast stood on a low rocky rise beyond the western feed field, where the farm’s cleared land met scrub birch and spruce. Years earlier, it had measured rainfall, wind speed, temperature and soil moisture. Daniel’s father had installed the original version; Daniel had replaced most of it after lightning damaged the instruments when he was twenty-four.
The system had gradually become unreliable. One sensor failed, then another. Daniel kept intending to repair it properly.
Eventually, his phone had begun supplying forecasts more accurately than the mast.
The structure remained because dismantling it never reached the top of any list.
Snow reached halfway up their boots as they crossed the field. Beneath it, frozen stubble from the final feed crop caught at Daniel’s soles. The ground sloped gradually toward the ridge.
Neris carried a compact tool case from Takuhai. Daniel carried rope, a farm harness, a pry bar and a canvas bag of electrical tools.
ER accompanied them through two communicators and a small control module Neris had connected to the farm tablet. His voice emerged from Daniel’s chest and from the tool case at slightly different times until he corrected the delay.
The mast appeared above the ridge.
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