The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 17: Weather Between Worlds
The storm arrived twelve hours early.
At three fourteen in the morning, ER dimmed the lights in Takuhai’s workshop and placed a weather map across the central display.
Daniel had been asleep for less than two hours.
Neris had not slept at all.
She stood beside the open resonator housing with one paw resting on the edge of the access panel. Fine insulated leads ran from the damaged assembly to three diagnostic modules arranged across the floor. A narrow maintenance manipulator held a light above her shoulder while another kept a bundle of disconnected optical fibres from slipping back into the machinery.
Outside, the first wind struck the hull.
Snow moved across the clearing with a sound like dry sand.
Daniel sat up on the couch, still wearing yesterday’s shirt and one sock.
“What happened?”
“The approaching weather system has accelerated,” ER said.
Daniel rubbed his face.
“How much?”
“Local snowfall has begun. Sustained winds are expected to exceed fifty kilometres per hour before dawn, with stronger gusts. Freezing precipitation remains possible during the transition.”
He looked at the map.
A wide band of colour crossed northern Ontario from the northwest, swallowing roads, lakes and settlements beneath it. Moose River sat near the leading edge.
Daniel found his other sock beneath the blanket.
“Power?”
“The grid remains active.”
“For now.”
“Yes.”
Neris continued working.
Daniel watched her insert a probe into the resonator housing.
“You didn’t sleep.”
“I was not tired.”
ER said, “The pilot’s accuracy has declined by six percent over the past four hours.”
Neris did not look up.
“That figure is based upon an inadequate sample.”
“It is based upon seventeen repeated alignment attempts, two reversed connectors and your use of a thermal calibration tool to measure optical resistance.”
Daniel pulled on his boot.
“That last one sounds bad.”
“The connector shapes are similar,” Neris said.
“They are colour-coded,” ER replied.
“The workshop lighting is inconsistent.”
“I control the workshop lighting.”
“Then the responsibility is yours.”
Daniel tied his laces.
“How close are we?”
The resonator model appeared beside the weather map.
Before the accident, the assembly had coordinated the dimensional drive’s sensing field, identifying safe phase conditions and maintaining the geometry required for transit. Now almost a third of the model remained dark. Several surviving sections operated only through improvised bypasses.
“Functional recovery is at sixty-four point two percent,” ER said.
“You said we needed another seven.”
“We have recovered four point eight.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
“And the echo?”
“The precursor suggests arrival within twenty-two hours,” she said.
“Maybe sooner?”
“Yes.”
“How much sooner?”
“We do not know.”
Another gust struck the ship.
The lighting flickered.
Daniel looked toward the ceiling.
“Grid?”
“Voltage disturbance only,” ER said. “External supply remains within tolerance.”
Takuhai used her own power for critical systems, but since the repair work began Daniel had run a protected line from the farm generator building to support heaters, tools and several nonessential loads. It conserved the ship’s damaged reserves.
It also tied them to every weakness in a northern Ontario electrical grid entering a storm.
Daniel stood.
“I need to start the backup generator and check the cattle shelters.”
Neris’s ears shifted.
“The resonator requires assistance.”
“It’ll still require assistance when I get back.”
“The third echo may not.”
“The cattle won’t wait for the weather to improve either.”
“I am aware of the farm’s requirements.”
Daniel reached for his coat.
“Then you know why I’m going.”
Neris looked at the exposed resonator.
At Daniel.
At the storm map.
There was no anger in her face. Only the strain of trying to treat two urgent things as though one must be allowed to become secondary.
“I will come,” she said.
“You’ll get more done here.”
“I will get less done if the farm loses power or the weather mast fails.”
Daniel paused.
The answer was practical.
That did not make it impersonal.
“All right.”
ER retracted one manipulator from the resonator and offered Neris her coat.
“Remote diagnostics will continue while you are absent.”
She took it.
“Do not alter the phase coupling.”
“I would not alter it without authorization.”
“You altered the coolant bypass yesterday.”
“I corrected your alteration.”
“You changed the configuration.”
“I improved it.”
Daniel opened the hatch.
“Save it for the storm.”
Cold entered like a physical thing.
The clearing had almost disappeared.
Snow moved sideways through the trees, catching in the beams from Takuhai’s external lights. The farmhouse porch lamp glowed dimly across the yard. Beyond it, the farm buildings existed mostly as darker shapes inside the moving white.
Daniel lowered his head and walked.
Neris followed in his tracks.
Her tail streamed behind her, narrowed against the wind. Snow accumulated rapidly in the longer fur, weighing the white stripe until she shook it free.
They reached the generator building first.
The small diesel unit sat behind insulated doors beside the main electrical panel. Daniel checked the fuel level, oil pressure and coolant heater while Neris examined the transfer switch.
“You maintain an independent power system for the farm.”
“Grid outages happen.”
“How long can it operate?”
“Depends on the load. Two days comfortably. Longer if I shut down everything that isn’t keeping animals alive.”
“And Takuhai?”
“Not on the emergency circuit.”
Her ears angled toward him.
Daniel tightened the fuel cap.
“Your ship has its own power.”
“Her remaining reserves are not unlimited.”
“I know.”
“If the optical synchronization system fails—”
“I know.”
He saw the response in her posture and softened his voice.
“We’ll split the backup feed if we have to.”
“That may compromise the cattle systems.”
“Then we decide based on what’s happening when it happens.”
Neris looked at the transfer switch.
“Approximation.”
“Judgment.”
She considered correcting him.
Instead she said, “They are not always different.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Now you’re learning farming.”
The generator started on the first attempt.
Its engine settled into a low mechanical rhythm beneath the storm.
Daniel left it running unloaded while they crossed to the cattle yard.
The animals had gathered inside the wind shelters. Their dark bodies filled the open-front structures, breath turning the interior air pale. The newest windbreak repair held, but snow had begun pushing beneath the lower edge.
Daniel checked the roof fasteners with a flashlight.
Neris walked the inside perimeter, placing one paw against each support while listening to the structure.
“You can hear something?” he asked.
“Vibration changes when a fastening point loosens.”
“That one?”
She touched the second upright.
“The upper connection has movement.”
Daniel climbed the service ladder.
The wind pressed against his back.
Neris stood below, one paw on the ladder’s side rail.
“You required me to wear a harness on the weather mast.”
“This is three metres.”
“Gravity remains active.”
“I’m flattered you remembered.”
He reached the upper brace. A bolt had backed halfway out, allowing the roof panel to lift with every gust.
Daniel tightened it.
The panel settled.
“There.”
Another metallic snap came from the far shelter.
Neris turned before he did.
A section of windbreak tore free from two lower clips and struck the frame repeatedly.
The cattle nearest it shifted away.
Daniel climbed down.
“I’ll get the drill.”
Neris caught the loose edge with both paws as the wind tried to wrench it from her.
“It is resisting.”
“That’s what wind does.”
“Your planet applies weather without moderation.”
“You haven’t seen February.”
“This is not February?”
“Not even close.”
She looked toward him.
The loose panel snapped between her paws.
“Your seasons are vindictive.”
They replaced the clips with bolts and wide washers. The first washer vanished into the snow when Daniel dropped it. Neris found it by scent and touch after the flashlight beam failed to distinguish metal from ice.
By the time they reached the waterer, both were coated in snow.
The heater remained active.
The gate hinge held despite Mabel’s continued experiments.
She struck it as Daniel approached.
Clang.
ER’s voice came through the communicator beneath his coat.
“The acoustic frequency has shifted.”
Daniel looked down.
“You’re listening to the gate from the ship?”
“The yard camera includes audio.”
“Why?”
“I am maintaining situational awareness.”
Neris brushed snow from her muzzle.
“He likes it.”
“I have not formed an emotional preference.”
Mabel struck the gate.
Clang.
A pause followed.
ER said, “The new backing plate has improved resonance.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
She said nothing.
Her eyes did.
They checked the feed shed, secured the main doors and inspected the water lines running to the barn.
At four twenty-six, the grid failed.
Every electric light on the farm vanished.
The generator building responded three seconds later.
Diesel rose in pitch.
The transfer switch closed.
Lights returned in the cattle shelters, the farmhouse and the water system controls.
The western ridge remained dark.
Neris looked toward it.
“The weather mast.”
“The receiver has battery power.”
“For how long?”
ER answered through the communicator.
“Estimated duration at current temperature is nine hours and fourteen minutes.”
Neris started toward the field.
Daniel caught her arm.
“Not in this visibility.”
“The mast must remain synchronized.”
“The optical link can’t see through this snow anyway.”
“The hard-line return remains active.”
“If the cable isn’t buried by drifting.”
“That is an argument for inspection.”
“It’s an argument for staying alive until daylight.”
Her eyes fixed on him.
Wind pushed snow between them.
“We have less than a day.”
“And we’ll lose more time if one of us walks into a drainage ditch.”
“I can navigate by Takuhai’s positional reference.”
“ER’s exterior sensors can barely see the farmhouse.”
“I do not require visual navigation.”
“You require the ground to remain where the map says it is.”
Neris pulled her arm free, not roughly.
“The receiver is essential.”
“So are you.”
The words stopped her.
Daniel had not raised his voice.
He did not need to.
Neris looked toward the unseen ridge.
Then back at him.
Snow gathered on her eyelashes and the fur above her eyes.
“I dislike waiting.”
“I know.”
“It feels like choosing to lose information.”
“I know.”
“How do you tolerate it?”
Daniel looked around the dark yard.
At the cattle shelters.
At the barn.
At the farmhouse light restored by the generator.
“You don’t tolerate it. You do the next thing you can do.”
“That is unsatisfying.”
“Most useful answers are.”
She stood beside him in the storm for several seconds.
Then turned toward the farmhouse.
“Food,” she said.
Daniel blinked.
“What?”
“The next thing we can do. You have not eaten.”
Neither had she.
He nodded.
“Food.”
They reached the kitchen just before five.
Daniel filled the kettle and set a pot of oats on the stove. Neris remained by the window, watching snow erase the yard.
ER connected to the farmhouse tablet through the protected local network.
His interface appeared beside the weather data.
“Remote receiver remains functional,” he said. “Battery temperature is declining.”
Neris took off her gloves.
“Activate the internal heater.”
“It is already active.”
“Increase output.”
“Doing so would reduce operating duration by approximately three hours.”
“The oscillator must remain stable.”
“The battery must remain functional.”
Daniel stirred the oats.
“Can the generator feed the mast?”
“The emergency circuit does not extend to the western field,” ER said.
“We could use the old irrigation line conduit.”
Daniel looked toward the floor as if the buried pipe might appear there.
“It runs halfway.”
“Could we pull cable through it?” Neris asked.
“In this weather?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She folded her arms.
Daniel added salt to the pot.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Treating every ‘not now’ like ‘never.’”
“The echo window is finite.”
“So are fingers.”
“My cold tolerance exceeds yours.”
“That doesn’t make frostbite fictional.”
Neris’s ears angled back.
Daniel placed two bowls on the table.
“Eat.”
“That is not a response.”
“It is the response until there’s enough light to see the field.”
She remained standing.
The farmhouse creaked as wind pressed against the walls.
ER said nothing.
Daniel sat.
He tasted the oats.
“Needs something.”
Neris looked toward him.
“Your culinary standards are inconsistent.”
He reached for the Xianglume seasoning container on the counter.
She intercepted his hand.
“Not in that quantity.”
“I know.”
“You said that before your eyes produced fluid.”
“That was different.”
“You interpreted discomfort as achievement.”
“It was a movie night.”
“Physiology does not recognize entertainment context.”
She took the container and added a controlled amount to his bowl.
Then to her own.
Daniel watched her sit.
The argument had not disappeared.
It had changed shape enough for both of them to remain at the table.
They ate while ER reported on the storm.
The western concession road had become impassable.
The local grid operator estimated several hours before power restoration.
Wind speeds continued rising.
The dimensional precursor remained stable but had not intensified.
At five forty-eight, Neris put down her spoon.
“I can work on the resonator while we wait for daylight.”
Daniel nodded.
“I’ll check the generator every hour.”
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I rested during the film.”
“You slept six hours.”
“That is sufficient.”
“For a courier?”
“Yes.”
“For someone who used a thermal tool on an optical connector?”
Her eyes narrowed.
ER said, “Daniel’s argument remains supported by evidence.”
Neris looked at the tablet.
“You have become partisan.”
“I have become experienced.”
They returned to Takuhai together.
The ship’s external power connection had dropped with the grid, but ER had shifted automatically to internal reserves. Nonessential systems were dark. The workshop lights remained bright enough to work.
The resonator waited open.
Neris removed her coat and stood over it.
Daniel checked the status board.
“Power use?”
“Within acceptable limits,” ER said. “If the outage exceeds fourteen hours, further reductions will be necessary.”
“Can the farm generator supply the ship?”
“Through the existing line, yes, once manually transferred.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
“You keep working. I’ll rig it after daylight.”
She nodded.
No argument.
Progress of a kind.
The next five hours passed in fragments.
Neris rebuilt an optical phase bridge from two damaged couplers and a section of intact sensor fibre. The first arrangement produced unstable feedback. The second overheated one of the couplers. ER shut it down before permanent damage occurred.
Neris swore in Xianglumese.
Daniel looked up from the human power-transfer cable he was preparing.
“What did that mean?”
“No accurate translation exists.”
ER said, “A literal approximation would be: ‘May your ancestral burrow develop persistent moisture.’”
Daniel considered it.
“That’s specific.”
“It is an old expression,” Neris said.
“Severe?”
“Moderate.”
“What’s severe?”
She looked at him.
“You do not require that information.”
The third bridge held.
Resonator function rose to sixty-six percent.
They needed sixty-seven.
Neris replaced another damaged lead.
The function dropped to sixty-five point seven.
She stared at the display.
Daniel kept his eyes on the cable.
“Don’t say it,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were preparing to say that progress is not linear.”
“I was preparing to ask whether you wanted coffee.”
Her ears shifted.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“So do I.”
The coffee helped less than either admitted.
At nine sixteen, daylight existed only as a grey thinning of the darkness.
The storm remained heavy, but the farm buildings had become visible.
Daniel inspected the generator, then loaded cable, a shovel and emergency gear into the tractor.
Neris met him in the yard wearing the climbing harness beneath her coat.
He looked at it.
“You planned ahead.”
“Gravity remains active.”
He smiled.
They drove toward the western field.
The tractor moved slowly through snow reaching above the lower wheel hubs. Drifts had formed against the fence lines, soft on top and packed beneath. Daniel kept the bucket low, using it to test the ground.
Neris sat beside him in the cab, tail compressed awkwardly behind the seat.
“This vehicle was not designed for me.”
“It wasn’t designed for comfort.”
“The heater has two settings.”
“Hot and louder.”
“It is currently producing both.”
ER spoke through the dashboard tablet.
“The mast battery has reached thirty-one percent.”
Neris looked toward the grey ridge.
“Temperature?”
“Below optimal range but stable.”
“The oscillator?”
“Drift remains within correction limits.”
Daniel steered around a buried drainage channel.
“Any signal changes?”
“The precursor amplitude increased by four percent during the past hour.”
Neris’s paws tightened in her lap.
“How long?”
“Updated estimate: eight to fourteen hours.”
They reached the point where the tractor could go no farther.
A drift had swallowed the field track from fence to fence.
Daniel stopped.
“We walk from here.”
Neris opened the door.
Wind tore it from her grip and slammed it against the stop.
Snow entered the cab.
Daniel pulled it closed.
“Wait.”
He tied a rope from his waist to Neris’s harness, leaving several metres between them.
She looked down at it.
“This is unnecessary.”
“If one of us drops into the drainage cut, the other knows where.”
“I can detect—”
“Humour me.”
Her expression softened.
“I believe the phrase means accepting an irrational request to preserve social harmony.”
“That’s the one.”
“Very well.”
They stepped into the storm.
The rope remained loose between them.
Daniel broke trail.
Neris followed, placing her paws precisely in the depressions from his boots. When the wind strengthened, she lowered her head and used her tail for balance.
The mast emerged gradually from the white.
Its lower half had been buried by drifting snow. Ice coated the windward side of the lattice and the passive receiver housing.
The amber indicator still blinked.
Neris exhaled.
“Functional.”
Daniel approached the junction box.
The lid had remained closed.
“Your enclosure learned to swim?”
“It remained dry,” ER said.
“Shame.”
Neris brushed ice from the optical window.
The surface cleared, then frosted again almost immediately.
“The timing pulse cannot penetrate this layer.”
Daniel opened the tool bag.
“Heat tape?”
“Too much interference.”
“Warm water?”
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