The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 21: The Minutes Without Him
ER chose six twenty in the morning for the extraction. Daniel suspected the hour had less to do with engineering than with control. The cattle would not need feeding for another forty minutes. The farm’s grid supply had remained stable through the night. Wind across the western field had fallen below ten kilometres per hour, reducing the chance of a weather-mast fault demanding attention while Takuhai’s internal systems were partially disabled.
Every practical condition had been arranged. That did not make the ship feel ready. Daniel stood inside Takuhai’s workshop wearing clean work clothes and holding a mug of coffee he had forgotten to drink. The fabrication schematic hovered above the central console. Beside it, a second display counted down to the environmental-system transfer.
00:18:43
Neris knelt beside the open service corridor, sorting tools on a padded mat. She had arranged them according to the extraction sequence rather than size: insulation cutters, optical probes, fine clamps, manual release keys, two torque drivers, the inspection camera from Daniel’s workshop, and a narrow support frame fabricated from an Earth aluminium alloy.
The frame had worked on its first test. The mounting adaptor had not. Its initial design fitted the fabrication housing but blocked access to one of the molecular anchor points. Neris had revised it by moving the support load to an adjacent structural brace. That approach required more material but reduced the risk of twisting the optical lattice during removal.
The replacement adaptor remained fixed inside the maintenance corridor, waiting.
Daniel looked at the tools. “Anything missing?”
“No.”
“You checked?”
“Four times.”
“That sounds like too many.”
Neris did not look up. “It is not.”
Her tail lay behind her, almost entirely still. Daniel lowered himself onto the deck beside her. She picked up the authorization key ER had given her. The object was smaller than Daniel expected. A narrow black prism, smooth except for two contact strips along one edge. Nothing about it looked important enough to permit surgery on a living intelligence. Neris turned it between her claws.
“Once this is inserted, the extraction locks will release.”
“And ER goes offline?”
“Not immediately. Environmental control transfers first, followed by local processing and maintenance access.”
Daniel looked at the countdown.
00:17:51
“How long until he can’t speak?”
“Approximately nine minutes after transfer begins.”
“And how long after that before we remove the lattice?”
“If the support frame seats correctly, six minutes.”
“If it doesn’t?”
“We stop.” The answer was immediate.
ER spoke through the workshop speakers. “The abort procedure has been tested.”
Daniel looked toward the ceiling. “You’ve said that.”
“Repetition may improve confidence.”
“Has it?”
“No.”
Neris’s ears shifted. Daniel set down the coffee. “Still time to change your mind.”
ER answered calmly. “Yes.”
The word stayed in the room without reassurance or a promise that he would never change his mind. Daniel appreciated the honesty more than certainty. Neris closed her paw around the key. “Do you want to?”
ER took two seconds to answer. “No.”
Neris lifted her gaze. “Do you want to stop?”
“No.”
The distinction settled between them. Daniel thought of the kitchen drawer. Wanting to avoid a cost was not the same as refusing it. The countdown reached fifteen minutes. ER displayed the extraction sequence. “Review begins now.”
They had reviewed it the previous evening. Twice. Daniel did not object.
ER highlighted the first stage. “Environmental regulation in compartments four through seven will transfer to secondary control. Temperature variation may reach four degrees. Atmospheric quality will remain within safe limits.”
“Confirmed,” Neris said.
“Fabrication-bay power will isolate. Emergency release will remain mechanical.”
“Confirmed.”
ER took them through the extraction sequence one last time. At stage four, maintenance routing would move away from the extraction zone, and his manipulators would become unavailable. At stage six, local intelligence functions would lose sensory access to the fabrication bay even though his primary processing continued elsewhere. For a portion of the procedure, the part of his own body they were cutting into would effectively disappear from his awareness.
Neris confirmed each anchor release in order: upper forward, lower aft, lower forward, upper aft. Any fracture beyond the marked boundary, any support-frame shift greater than one and a half millimetres, or any uncertainty they could not immediately resolve meant aborting. ER repeated the last condition without qualification.
The technical review ended, but none of them moved. ER addressed Daniel directly and indicated the blue manual release beside the corridor opening. Pulling it would restore environmental control in an emergency and permanently sever the lattice feed. It was the sort of instruction that existed because every other plan had already failed.
“Pulling it saves the ship but destroys the part.”
“It would probably fracture the lattice beyond resonator use.”
“Probably?”
“Eighty-four percent likelihood.”
Daniel moved closer to the lever. “And if something goes wrong while you’re offline, I pull it.”
“If Neris determines that internal control cannot be restored.”
Daniel looked at her. “You tell me.”
“Yes.”
“No debate.”
Her ears angled back. “Daniel—”
“No debate while he’s gone.”
Neris held his gaze. She nodded. “No debate.”
ER said, “Agreed.”
The countdown reached ten minutes. Neris stood. She wore a fitted work layer rather than her jacket, allowing her to move through the narrow corridor without loose material catching on the braces. Daniel had helped secure her tool harness across her hips and beneath the base of her tail. Now Daniel checked the harness again. He tightened one strap by less than a centimetre. Neris watched him.
“It was secure.”
“I know.”
His hands remained at her waist. Her tail curled around his calf. The countdown continued behind them. Daniel looked into her eyes. “You don’t have to be the only one who keeps it together.”
Neris’s ears lowered slightly. “I am not.”
“You’re trying.”
“So are you.”
“Probably.”
Her paws rose to rest against his chest. Daniel’s hands moved from her waist to her back. Neris leaned into him just enough to borrow steadiness. Her forehead touched his collarbone. Daniel rested his cheek against the top of her head. ER remained silent.
The countdown reached eight minutes. Neris’s tail tightened around Daniel’s lower leg before gradually releasing. She stepped back. “I am ready.”
Daniel was not. He nodded anyway.
ER began the transfer. The first change was sound. A low hum beneath the deck faded as environmental systems shifted away from the primary network. Ventilation slowed, then resumed at a different pitch. Several wall indicators changed from blue to amber. The temperature display dropped by half a degree. Neris inserted the authorization key into the corridor control. The panel recognized it immediately.
EXTRACTION AUTHORITY ACCEPTED
The service hatch opened. Daniel lay on the deck beside it while Neris entered. She moved more carefully than during the inspection. The shifted structural brace had been locked in place and marked with a bright strip of tape. She passed it without touching it. Her tail remained visible around the first turn. Daniel placed the portable monitor where both of them could see it.
The inspection camera showed the temporary support frame already surrounding the fabrication alignment housing.
“Frame diagnostics?” Neris asked.
ER responded through her communicator.
“Stable. Upper load point at thirty-one percent. Lower load point at twenty-eight. Lateral movement below detection.”
Neris reached the housing. “Beginning manual verification.”
She placed one paw against each support arm and tested them separately. The frame held. “Verified.”
Daniel watched the camera feed. Neris’s claws appeared beside the first anchor release.
“Not yet,” ER said.
“I know.”
“Local processing transfer begins in thirty seconds.”
The workshop lights dimmed. One maintenance manipulator folded into its wall recess. A second paused above the tool tray. Its articulated fingers relaxed.
Daniel looked at it. “ER?”
“Still present.”
“Just checking.”
“Twenty seconds.”
Neris’s tail moved at the corridor turn. Daniel reached out. He did not touch it immediately. The tip curled around his wrist. He rested his fingers lightly in the fur.
“Ten seconds,” ER said. The voice remained calm. “Environmental secondary control stable.”
“Confirmed,” Neris replied.
“Fabrication-bay isolation stable.”
“Confirmed.”
“Maintenance rerouting complete.” A row of indicators went dark.
“Local intelligence suspension beginning.”
Neris’s grip tightened around the first tool. Daniel looked toward the speaker. “See you soon.”
ER paused. “Yes.”
The workshop became truly silent rather than merely quiet, though air still moved and power remained active. The ship’s hull creaked faintly as temperature changed. The presence behind those sounds was gone.
Daniel had not realized how thoroughly he had learned to hear ER in the space between them. A light adjusting before anyone asked. A system tone cut short. A speaker waiting to interrupt. Now Takuhai sounded like machinery.
Neris remained still inside the corridor. Her tail tightened around Daniel’s wrist. He looked at the local timer.
OFFLINE ELAPSED: 00:00:08
“You alright?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“That was fast.”
“I knew you would ask.”
“Still counts.”
She released a breath. “Beginning anchor sequence.”
Daniel watched the support-frame display. The first anchor was mechanical: a locking collar designed to prevent movement under fabrication vibration. Neris fitted the manual driver into it. The collar turned smoothly.
“Upper forward released,” she said.
No one confirmed the step. Neris paused. Daniel understood. “I heard you.”
Her ears moved in the camera feed. “Thank you.”
The second anchor was partially concealed behind the coolant return. Neris inserted the inspection camera through the ventilation passage they had used before. Daniel adjusted the image orientation from the console. “Lower aft is visible,” he said.
“Angle?”
“Move the camera left.”
“Your left or mine?”
“Yours.” She moved it.
“Too far.”
“That is not a precise measurement.”
“Back two centimetres.”
The anchor came into view. Unlike the first, its locking mechanism was molecular rather than purely mechanical. Without ER’s control, Neris had to activate the release using the authorization key’s contact edge. She extended her arm through the duct. The image shook.
“Contact alignment?” she asked.
Daniel enlarged the feed. “Top edge is low.”
Neris adjusted. “Now?”
“Half a millimetre up.”
“That precision is not available through your camera.”
“Then very slightly.”
She moved. The contacts lit. “Release active.”
The anchor dimmed. “Lower aft released.”
Two remained as the support frame took more load: forty-six percent at the upper point, forty-three at the lower, with a lateral shift of zero-point-three millimetres. All remained within tolerance.
The offline timer reached three minutes.
Neris moved to the lower-forward anchor. It should have been the simplest. The manual release lever moved halfway and stopped. Neris applied more pressure. Nothing. “Do not force it,” Daniel said.
“I am not.”
“That sounded like force.”
“It was controlled pressure.”
“Different because it benefits you?”
Her tail flicked around his wrist. Daniel smiled despite himself.
Neris inspected the mechanism. “The release cam is obstructed.”
“Can you see it?”
“No.”
Daniel changed the camera angle. The obstruction appeared as a sliver of deformed metal beneath the cam. “Crash damage,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Can you cut it?”
“Not without risking the anchor housing.”
Daniel looked at the tool layout. “Could you move the cam backwards first?”
“It is designed for one-direction travel.”
“Designed before the housing bent.”
Neris studied it. Daniel continued. “If the metal’s caught because the cam came forward crooked, push it back enough to clear the edge.”
“That may reseat the anchor.”
“Then we release it again.”
Neris changed tools. A narrow clamp fitted around the cam arm. She pulled it backward. It moved. The deformed metal scraped along the housing, then dropped free. “Obstruction removed.” She released the cam. This time it completed its motion.
“Lower forward released.” The support frame load climbed. Upper point: sixty-two percent. Lower point: sixty-one. Lateral shift: zero point six millimetres. The lattice remained seated by one final anchor.
Daniel looked at the offline timer.
00:05:47
“How are you doing?”
Neris adjusted her position in the corridor.
“Functional.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“I am aware.”
Her tail loosened from his wrist, then curled around his palm instead. Daniel closed his fingers gently over it. “What do you need?”
“A stable hand.”
“You’ve got one.”
The final anchor sat behind the upper edge of the optical lattice. Neris angled the inspection camera toward it. Unlike the other anchors, this one had three parts that had to move together: two spring-loaded tabs held the locking pin in place, one on either side of the anchor. Compress both tabs, withdraw the pin, and the anchor released.
The problem was access. Neris could reach the front tab and the pin from the maintenance corridor, but the rear tab was hidden behind the lattice. During planning, they had looped a thin temporary filament around it and run the filament back to Daniel.
“I pull this,” Daniel said, lifting the filament handle, “and that presses the side you can’t reach.”
“Yes. I press the near tab. Once both are compressed, I pull the locking pin.” Neris placed the release tool against the front tab.
“Ready?” he asked.
“No.”
She shifted until her shoulder rested against the corridor wall and checked the support-frame display. “Now.”
Daniel pulled the filament slowly. A marker on the handle climbed toward the line Neris had drawn during rehearsal. “Rear tab compressed.”
Neris pressed the release tool. “Front compressed.”
She caught the head of the locking pin with a narrow extractor and began drawing it toward her. It moved several millimetres, then resisted. “More tension?” Daniel asked.
“No. Hold exactly there.”
He held. Neris changed the angle of the extractor. The pin moved again. On the support display, the lattice shifted sideways. Lateral movement: zero point nine millimetres.
“Frame moved.”
“I see it.”
One point one.
Neris stopped pulling the pin. It was halfway out.
“Do I let go?”
“No. If the rear tab releases now, the pin may twist and the anchor may reseat crooked.”
One point two.
The abort limit was one point five. Daniel looked at the blue manual lever beside him.
“Neris.”
“The lower support is taking the load.”
One point three.
“Hold.”
“Neris.”
“Hold.”
One point four.
Daniel put his free hand on the abort lever.
“Ease the filament. Ten percent.”
He let a little tension out. The hidden rear tab rose slightly. The lattice settled back toward its original position.
One point two.
One point zero.
Daniel exhaled. “Stable.”
Neris shifted the temporary support frame until more of the lattice’s weight rested on its lower pad. “Again.”
Daniel pulled the filament back to the mark. “Rear tab compressed.”
“Front compressed.” Neris drew on the pin. It moved almost another centimetre and stopped hard. This time she did not pull harder.
“Something is catching.”
Daniel enlarged the camera image. Beside the anchor, the crash had left a hairline fracture in the housing. The end of the locking pin had reached the raised edge of that fracture. From Neris’s position below it, pulling harder would drag the pin directly across the damaged metal.
“Can you pull it at a different angle?”
“Not from here. I need to lift the pin over the fracture.”
“Another way in?”
Neris looked toward the environmental duct above her. “Yes.”
Daniel checked the offline timer.
00:08:00
The release should already have been finished.
“Abort?”
“Not yet.”
Neris pushed the pin back into place. Daniel relaxed the filament, and the final anchor reseated with a faint mechanical click. The support-frame readings steadied.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.