The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 27: The Distance Between Voices
Daniel’s first attempt to stand lasted eleven seconds.
ER counted.
Daniel knew because ER announced the number after Neris lowered him back onto the medical berth.
“Eleven point four,” ER said.
Daniel lay with his eyes closed and waited for the room to stop moving.
“That sounded judgmental.”
“It was a measurement.”
“Measurements can be judgmental.”
Neris remained crouched beside him, one paw at his neck and the other resting against the portable support frame they had assembled from farm tubing, a section of Takuhai’s emergency rail, and two rubber grips taken from an old wheelbarrow.
Her tail had been braced behind Daniel’s hips while he stood. Now it curled around one leg of the frame as though preventing the device itself from escaping.
“Your blood pressure fell too quickly,” she said.
“I stood up.”
“You attempted to.”
“My feet were on the floor.”
“Your body was vertical for six seconds.”
“Eleven point four.”
“The remaining time involved returning you to the berth.”
Daniel opened one eye.
“Whose side are you on?”
Neris’s ears tilted.
“The side preventing you from collapsing.”
ER said, “The committee remains unanimous.”
Daniel looked toward the ceiling.
“I used to walk without a committee.”
“The committee formed after you demonstrated poor structural integrity,” Neris replied.
ER added, “The vote was immediate.”
Daniel let his eye close again.
Three days had passed since the accident.
Three days since the auger housing had struck him.
Three days since Neris had decided that an ambulance would arrive too late.
Three days since alien machines entered his body and refused to leave.
He could breathe without active lung support now.
That qualified as progress.
He could sit upright for nearly forty minutes before dizziness forced him down.
More progress.
He could move his right leg freely, his left in a controlled range, and his arms without threatening the stabilized ribs.
ER used phrases such as functional recovery trajectory and acceptable metabolic response.
Daniel used different words.
Slow.
Painful.
Humiliating.
Alive.
The last one made the others difficult to complain about for long.
Neris watched his face.
“Pain?”
“Four.”
“While lying still?”
“Three and a half.”
“You previously said four.”
“I’m revising.”
“Pain does not become lower because you dislike the number.”
“That’s not how human scales work.”
“It is exactly how scales work.”
ER said, “Daniel’s current analgesic level should reduce resting pain to approximately three.”
Daniel opened his eyes.
“See?”
Neris narrowed hers.
“You are both impossible.”
“Household trait.”
Her expression softened despite herself.
She stood and adjusted the support frame.
The device was ugly.
Daniel had said so when ER first displayed the design.
The ship’s reduced fabrication array could no longer produce a full mobility system, and Daniel had refused to let Neris dismantle more of Takuhai for one. The compromise stood beside the berth now: farm steel, alien joints, wheelbarrow handles and two wide feet cut from an old stall mat.
It looked as though a livestock gate had developed medical ambitions.
It worked.
Mostly.
Neris checked every joint again.
Daniel watched her.
“You’ve checked that four times.”
“Three.”
“ER?”
“Four.”
Neris looked toward the nearest speaker.
“The first was an inspection during assembly.”
“That is still checking.”
Daniel smiled.
Her tail flicked once against the floor.
“We try again after you eat,” she said.
“I ate.”
“You consumed half a bowl of porridge.”
“More than half.”
“Fifty-six percent.”
Daniel looked at the ceiling.
“Why does this ship measure everything?”
“Because approximation nearly killed you,” ER said.
The answer ended the argument.
Neris sat on the edge of the berth.
Her paw settled over Daniel’s hand.
He turned his palm beneath hers and linked their fingers.
The medical display above them showed his recovery in colours he had begun to understand.
Green for stable.
Blue for nanite support.
Amber for structures still vulnerable.
The pelvis remained mostly amber.
Three ribs had shifted to blue.
The damaged lung showed a thin green margin around a larger field of blue repair activity.
Daniel looked toward the hatch.
“What’s it like outside?”
“Cold,” Neris said.
“Specific.”
“Minus fourteen degrees. Light wind. Snowfall ended before dawn.”
“The lane?”
“Cleared.”
“By you?”
“Yes.”
“Using the tractor?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
Neris’s ears lowered.
Daniel squeezed her paw.
“I’m asking, not criticizing.”
“You criticize through questions.”
“Only when worried.”
“That does not improve the experience.”
ER said, “The lane was cleared without incident. Neris maintained appropriate speed, loader height and turning radius.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“Did she ask you to say that?”
“No.”
Neris’s tail moved behind her.
Daniel knew the answer was yes.
He let it go.
“What about the cattle?”
“Fed. Waterers checked. The heifer’s gait remains normal. Mabel struck the gate seven times.”
“Only seven?”
“Her behaviour may reflect Daniel’s continued absence,” ER said.
Daniel looked away.
Neris’s paw tightened around his.
He had not seen the yard except through cameras.
Had not felt the cold.
Had not stood among the animals and heard the quiet sounds they made while feeding.
The farm continued without him.
That was what he wanted.
It also felt like a betrayal of gravity.
Neris leaned closer.
“You can return to the house today if the next movement trial succeeds.”
Daniel turned back.
“ER agreed?”
“I approved controlled relocation under conditions.”
“Conditions,” Daniel repeated.
ER displayed them.
Continuous telemetry.
No unsupported standing.
No stairs.
No machinery.
No lifting.
No leaving the farmhouse without Neris or a remote medical link.
Daniel read the list.
“No stairs?”
“The bedroom is upstairs,” he said.
Neris looked at him.
“The downstairs office contains a sofa bed.”
“That thing is twenty years old.”
“It is horizontal.”
“So is the floor.”
“The floor lacks a mattress.”
“Debatable.”
ER said, “The office can accommodate the portable medical relay.”
Daniel continued reading.
“No machinery is too broad.”
“It is deliberately broad.”
“The coffee maker is machinery.”
“You may use the coffee maker while seated,” ER said.
“The wood stove?”
“Neris will manage it.”
“The kitchen mixer?”
“Your concern is noted.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
“You helped write this.”
“Yes.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
He leaned back.
“Betrayal.”
Her paw came to rest against his chest.
“You are leaving the medical berth.”
“Under armed escort.”
“I am not armed.”
“You have claws.”
“So do the cattle.”
“That’s not helping.”
Neris touched her muzzle briefly to his cheek.
Daniel’s complaints ended.
They had slept together every night since the accident.
First on the widened medical berth.
Then, once ER allowed Daniel to spend longer periods reclined instead of fully supported, on the broader rescue bed in the adjacent compartment.
Neris always arranged herself along his right side.
Her paw over his heartbeat.
Her tail across his legs.
Daniel had learned that she could sleep while monitoring three medical readings, two external alerts and every change in his breathing.
He had also learned that she denied doing so.
Their nights did not feel like hospital nights anymore.
They felt like theirs.
Interrupted by alarms.
Modified by pain.
Still theirs.
Neris drew back.
“Food,” she said.
“Movement first.”
“Food.”
“Compromise?”
“No.”
“Coffee?”
“After food.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“ER.”
“Neris’s recommendation is medically sound.”
“You’ve both become authoritarian.”
“Your survival appears to require governance,” ER said.
The porridge arrived on a tray carried by one of Takuhai’s manipulators.
Daniel examined it.
“Is there sugar?”
“No,” Neris said.
“Then this is livestock feed.”
“You ate livestock feed voluntarily yesterday.”
“That was oatmeal.”
“This is oatmeal.”
“Different presentation.”
Neris handed him the spoon.
He ate.
She watched until the bowl was empty.
The second standing attempt lasted thirty-four seconds.
ER counted that one too.
Neris stood to Daniel’s right with one arm around his waist. Her tail braced behind his pelvis, broad enough to provide support without pressing against the healing injury.
Daniel gripped the frame.
The first lift felt manageable.
Then weight reached the left side of his body.
Pain spread through the pelvis in a deep, nauseating line.
He stopped.
Breathed.
Neris did not tell him to continue.
She did not tell him to sit.
She waited.
Daniel shifted one hand along the frame.
“Step,” he said.
“Small,” Neris replied.
His right foot moved first.
The frame followed.
His left foot moved less than the width of his hand.
The medical display flashed amber.
Daniel froze.
“Structural load acceptable,” ER said. “Continue only if dizziness remains below level three.”
“Two.”
Neris studied his face.
“Three.”
“Two and a half.”
“You are bargaining with symptoms.”
“It’s a human specialty.”
The second step was worse.
The third felt impossible until it was finished.
The medical bay hatch stood less than four metres from the berth.
Daniel reached it as though crossing a field in spring mud.
His arms trembled.
Sweat cooled beneath his shirt.
Neris’s body remained firm against his side.
Her tail moved with each step, adjusting pressure before he asked.
At the hatch, Daniel stopped.
The corridor beyond seemed absurdly long.
He looked back at the berth.
A distance he once crossed without noticing.
Now it held the shape of a journey.
“That’s enough,” Neris said.
“I can reach the wall.”
“You have reached the wall.”
“The next one.”
“No.”
Daniel wanted to argue.
His knees decided otherwise.
Neris guided him backward into the waiting chair.
ER lowered the support beneath him.
Daniel sat hard.
The room dimmed at the edges.
Neris crouched in front of him, both paws on his knees.
“Look at me.”
“I’m looking.”
“You are staring through me.”
“That’s more efficient.”
Her expression did not change.
Daniel took a slow breath.
The dizziness eased.
“Thirty-four point eight seconds,” ER said.
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Almost respectable.”
“It is a substantial improvement,” Neris said.
He opened his eyes again.
She meant it.
Not praise for effort.
Not consolation.
A measurement of change.
Daniel placed his hand over hers.
“House today?”
“If the telemetry works.”
The portable medical link had taken most of the previous evening to assemble.
ER had reduced one of Takuhai’s auxiliary medical sensors to its core components. Neris integrated it with a farm radio, Daniel’s phone and a compact nanite-control relay.
The outer case came from the ship’s weakened fabrication array.
It emerged thick, uneven and slightly warped at one corner.
Daniel called it ugly.
ER called it operational.
Neris called it necessary.
The unit fitted around Daniel’s lower chest with a broad strap and soft inner padding. A smaller band circled his wrist, tracking circulation and motor response.
Neris fastened the chest unit.
Daniel looked down at it.
“Looks like a fence charger.”
“It performs more complex functions.”
“Fence charger with ambition.”
ER activated the link.
The medical display shifted from direct berth monitoring to relay mode.
Signal strength remained high.
Nanite telemetry stable.
Daniel’s heart rhythm appeared on Neris’s tablet.
“Do not remove it,” she said.
“I gathered that.”
“Not while sleeping.”
“Fine.”
“Not because it itches.”
“Fine.”
“Not because you dislike its appearance.”
“That’s discriminatory.”
“Not while bathing.”
Daniel looked at her.
“I do plan to bathe again.”
“Only with assistance.”
“That is not happening.”
ER said, “You may remove the outer casing while seated if the relay band remains active and Neris is present.”
Daniel stared at the speaker.
“So I’m allowed to bathe if supervised.”
“Yes.”
“By either of you?”
“I lack visual coverage in the farmhouse bathroom unless invited through the portable camera.”
“You are not invited.”
“Then Neris.”
Daniel looked at her.
Her ears had tilted outward.
She was trying not to react.
“Later,” Daniel said.
“Bathing is generally advisable before later becomes much later,” ER replied.
Daniel pointed at the speaker.
“You don’t get to make hygiene jokes.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Neris tightened the final strap.
The relay came online.
ER’s voice moved from the wall speaker to Daniel’s phone.
“Portable monitoring active.”
Daniel tapped the casing.
“Can I turn you off?”
“No.”
“Can I mute you?”
“Not during medical alerts.”
“Can I remove it to drown discreetly?”
“Only if you wish to make the attempt obvious.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
“He’s improving.”
“I disagree.”
The journey to the farmhouse took twelve minutes.
Neris used the utility sled behind the tractor rather than the loader. She had padded it with blankets, foam and two sections of the old sofa mattress Daniel had once threatened to throw away.
He sat strapped into a supportive chair, wrapped in his winter coat and a quilt from the farmhouse.
Neris drove slowly.
ER monitored every bump.
Daniel watched the clearing pass around him.
Snow lay clean over the ground where the rescue route from the feed shed had been.
The tracks had softened beneath new snowfall.
Only the damaged auger housing remained visible through the feed-shed doorway.
Neris had secured the area with chains and warning markers.
Daniel looked away before they passed it.
The farmhouse stood ahead.
His porch.
His steps.
The light above the door.
Neris had built a temporary ramp from barn planks and traction strips.
Daniel stared at it.
“You built that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“You were supposed to sleep yesterday.”
“I slept.”
ER said, “Neris slept for three hours and twelve minutes.”
“That counts.”
Daniel looked at her from the sled.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“You are not currently qualified to criticize recovery behaviour.”
“That sounds invented.”
“It is still accurate.”
Neris helped him out of the chair.
The support frame stood ready beside the ramp.
Daniel took three steps.
Paused.
Two more.
The cold sharpened every breath, but the air smelled like spruce, woodsmoke and cattle.
Home.
At the door, he stopped.
Neris waited beside him.
Daniel touched the frame with both hands.
His coat still hung on the hook inside.
The one he had expected to retrieve after finishing the auger repair.
A mug sat on the kitchen counter beside the sink.
The morning’s breakfast dishes had been washed, but one tea towel remained where he had left it half-folded.
The house looked as though he had stepped out for an hour.
His body said otherwise.
Neris rested her paw at the small of his back.
Daniel entered.
The office had changed.
The old sofa bed was open and covered with clean sheets. Extra pillows formed supports along one side. The portable relay dock sat on a table beside the mattress.
ER’s voice came from Daniel’s phone and the small speaker Neris had placed near the bed.
“Signal stable.”
Daniel looked around.
“You moved my desk.”
“It obstructed the support frame,” Neris said.
“You moved the filing cabinet.”
“It obstructed the bed.”
“You reorganized the books.”
“They were on the floor.”
“They were in piles.”
“Yes.”
“Organized piles.”
Neris looked at him.
“Disorganized storage.”
Daniel almost smiled.
The effort became a grimace as pain caught under his ribs.
Neris’s arm tightened around him.
“Bed.”
“Chair first.”
“Bed.”
“I’ve been in bed for three days.”
“You have walked nineteen metres.”
“ER?”
“Nineteen point seven.”
Daniel looked toward the phone.
“Stop helping.”
Neris guided him onto the sofa bed.
He hated how relieved he felt when the mattress took his weight.
She arranged the pillows behind him, then lifted his left leg with both paws and settled it on the support wedge.
Her touch was careful.
Practical.
Familiar.
Daniel watched her.
“You know you don’t have to make everything normal.”
Neris looked up.
“I am not.”
“It feels like you are.”
“I am making it manageable.”
“That’s close.”
“No.”
She pulled the blanket over his legs.
“Normal means unchanged. Nothing is unchanged.”
Daniel let that sit between them.
Neris rested her paw against his chest unit.
The telemetry light remained green.
She leaned down and pressed her forehead to his.
“Manageable,” she said.
Daniel put one arm around her waist.
“Together?”
“Yes.”
The farm noticed his return before most people did.
Mabel saw him through the office window when Neris opened the curtains.
Daniel sat propped on the sofa bed with his phone in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.
The cattle moved in the distant yard.
Mabel stood beside the solid gate panel.
Her head turned toward the house.
Daniel could not have said how she knew.
Maybe she recognized the shape at the window.
Maybe the open curtain was enough.
Maybe cows understood absence differently.
Mabel struck the panel.
Clang.
ER said through the speaker, “One.”
Daniel lifted the mug toward the window.
“Morning.”
Clang.
“Two.”
Neris returned from the kitchen carrying food.
“She can see you.”
“Probably.”
“She may expect you to go outside.”
“She’ll be disappointed.”
Neris set the plate beside him.
“She has experience with that.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Was that a joke?”
“No.”
“ER?”
“Confirmed.”
The phone rang before Daniel could answer.
Marcel.
Daniel looked at Neris.
She sat beside him on the edge of the bed, close enough that her tail crossed his ankles.
“Answer,” she said.
Daniel did.
Marcel’s voice came through immediately.
“About time.”
“Good morning.”
“It is nearly noon.”
“Still morning.”
“You sound terrible.”
“That seems to be the consensus.”
“I heard you had an accident.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
“News travels.”
“You told Edith you hurt yourself.”
“I told Edith I’d be out of town deliveries for a while.”
“She asked why.”
“And?”
“She knows how to ask the same question seven ways.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Auger drive failed.”
Silence.
Then Marcel swore.
“You all right?”
“Recovering.”
“Hospital?”
“No.”
Another silence.
Daniel could hear the suspicion forming.
“I’m being looked after here.”
“By who?”
Daniel looked at Neris.
She waited.
“A friend.”
“The friend from the market?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“Neris.”
Marcel repeated it as though placing it somewhere.
“You trust her?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s something.”
The lack of interrogation surprised Daniel.
Marcel continued.
“I can bring feed over tomorrow. You won’t be using the auger.”
“No.”
“I want to look at it.”
“From outside the marked area.”
“I know what damaged equipment looks like.”
“So do I.”
“That’s why I’m coming.”
Daniel rubbed one hand over his face.
“Fine.”
“I’ll bring the portable mixer.”
“That’s too much trouble.”
“It’s less trouble than letting your cattle go hungry while you pretend lying down is farm management.”
Neris’s ears tilted.
Daniel knew she agreed.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said.
“Eight.”
“Make it nine.”
“Eight thirty.”
“Fine.”
Marcel paused.
“This Neris knows cattle?”
Daniel looked at her.
“Better than most people.”
Neris’s tail moved.
“Good,” Marcel said. “Then she can tell me what you’ve been doing wrong.”
The call ended.
Daniel lowered the phone.
“He did not ask where you are from.”
“He may ask tomorrow.”
“He’ll definitely ask tomorrow.”
“Will I remain hidden?”
Daniel looked toward the window.
Neris had spent weeks helping with the farm.
Now another person would arrive and work in the yard while she watched from behind glass or through ship cameras.
The arrangement felt smaller than it had before.
More insulting.
“He doesn’t need to meet you yet,” Daniel said.
“No.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I know.”
Neris looked toward the cattle.
Her reflection faintly overlapped the snow outside.
“I dislike concealing myself while another person performs work I can do.”
“I know.”
“I also understand the risk.”
“I know.”
“You repeat that frequently.”
“Because there isn’t a better answer.”
Her paw settled on his hand.
“How long?”
Daniel looked at their joined fingers.
“Not forever.”
Neris’s ears lowered.
“That is what concerns me.”
The formal questionnaire arrived that afternoon.
It entered through the low-bandwidth acknowledgment channel in three compressed sections.
ER expanded the packet above the office desk using the portable projector.
The Xianglume authority header appeared first.
PROTECTED-CONTACT ASSESSMENT — PRELIMINARY LOCAL CONDITIONS
Daniel sat upright against the pillows.
Neris sat beside him, one leg folded beneath her.
Her tail covered both their lower legs.
ER read the first field aloud.
“Has the protected-contact civilization detected the courier vessel?”
Neris answered.
“Not through confirmed institutional observation.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Marcel knows there’s something odd.”
“That is not institutional detection.”
“Claire knows.”
“Claire is not an institution.”
Daniel considered his sister.
“Debatable.”
Neris’s muzzle shifted.
ER continued.
“How many local individuals possess direct knowledge of Courier Vael, resident intelligence ER, or non-local technology?”
Neris looked at Daniel.
“Two humans.”
“Daniel Mercer and Claire Mercer,” ER recorded.
“What about Marcel?” Daniel asked.
“He knows I exist,” Neris said. “He does not know what I am.”
“That sounds harsh.”
“What species I am.”
“Better.”
The next question appeared.
CAN DANIEL MERCER COMMUNICATE FREELY AND WITHOUT COERCION?
Daniel stared.
“That’s direct.”
“It concerns whether your statements can be treated as voluntary,” Neris said.
“Answer yes.”
ER recorded it.
A secondary consent field opened.
CONFIRMATION REQUIRED FROM DANIEL MERCER
Daniel leaned toward the projector.
“Yes.”
“Verbal response recorded,” ER said.
The next field asked whether Earth possessed a global representative authority.
Daniel laughed.
The movement hurt enough that Neris placed a support pillow against his ribs.
“What is the correct answer?” she asked.
“No.”
“Earth has international organizations.”
“Organizations aren’t governments.”
“Some coordinate global policy.”
“They coordinate attempts at global policy.”
ER said, “Recommended response: no single authority with uncontested planetary representation.”
Daniel looked at the speaker.
“That’s diplomatic.”
“It is accurate.”
“Use it.”
The questionnaire continued.
Would local governments likely respond peacefully?
Daniel hesitated.
“Which government?”
“The field requests probability across relevant authorities,” ER said.
“That’s impossible.”
Neris looked at him.
“You have experience with human institutions.”
“Not with alien contact.”
“You understand the region.”
Daniel thought about local police.
Provincial authorities.
Federal agencies.
The military.
Universities.
Media.
Neighbours.
People with cameras.
People with guns.
People who would want to help.
People who would insist they were helping while making everything worse.
“Some would,” he said.
“And others?” Neris asked.
“Would panic. Or try to control it. Or classify it. Or argue about jurisdiction while standing beside your ship.”
ER recorded:
PEACEFUL RESPONSE POSSIBLE; CONSISTENCY NOT ASSURED
The next field asked whether leaving Earth without wider disclosure remained possible.
Neris looked toward the trees beyond the office wall.
“Currently, yes.”
Daniel heard the word.
Currently.
Another field followed.
WOULD REMOVAL OR DISABLING OF ACTIVE NANITE SYSTEMS ENDANGER DANIEL MERCER?
ER answered before either of them spoke.
“Yes.”
The word appeared with medical verification attached.
Then:
DOES DANIEL MERCER CONSENT TO NETWORK MEDICAL REVIEW?
Neris reached toward the authorization control.
Daniel stopped her.
His fingers closed around her wrist.
She looked at him.
“The nanites belong to Xianglume,” she said.
“They’re inside me.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
Neris’s ears lowered.
Daniel released her wrist but left his hand over hers.
“What does medical review mean?”
ER answered.
“Transmission of current nanite telemetry, injury mapping, adaptive integration records and ongoing physiological data.”
“Live?”
“If authorized.”
“To whom?”
“A protected-contact medical authority and designated technical specialists.”
“For how long?”
“Unspecified.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
“You were going to approve that.”
“I assumed medical oversight would improve your safety.”
“Probably.”
“But?”
“But I don’t want strangers watching every heartbeat indefinitely.”
Neris became still.
The realization reached her slowly.
Not because she disagreed.
Because she had nearly overlooked it.
“The machines are ours,” she said.
“My body isn’t.”
“No.”
Her paw turned beneath his.
“No, it is not.”
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