The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 28: Terms of Passage
Daniel woke to music played incorrectly. The notes came softly from the phone on the bedside table. Three quick tones. A pause too short. The middle phrase rushed ahead of itself, as though trying to escape correction. Lysa’s version. Daniel opened his eyes.
The office remained dark except for the low green light on the portable medical relay and the faint projection of the family message above the desk. Neris had fallen asleep with her back against his chest. One of her paws rested over the hand he had wrapped around her waist. Her tail covered both their legs and half the edge of the sofa bed, trapping warmth beneath the blankets.
The phone played the phrase again. Daniel moved his thumb against Neris’s fingers. Her ears shifted. She did not wake fully.
“Your sister’s doing it wrong again,” he murmured.
Neris made a soft sound. “She is committed.”
“To being wrong?”
“To resisting improvement.”
“Family trait?”
Her tail tightened over his ankles. “That depends which family.”
Daniel smiled into the fur at the back of her head. The movement pulled beneath his healing ribs as a warning rather than a sharp punishment. He breathed through it and waited until the discomfort eased. The nanites inside him registered the change before ER spoke. “Pain increase detected.”
Daniel looked toward the bedside speaker. “It went away.”
“It decreased.”
“Same practical result.”
Neris woke. Her paw pressed more firmly over his hand. “Where?”
“Ribs.”
She began to turn. Daniel kept his arm around her. “Don’t move.”
“I need to see.”
“You’ve seen them.”
“I need to see now.”
“It’s dark.”
“That is a solvable problem.”
The office lights rose by ten percent. Daniel squinted. Neris rolled carefully to face him, keeping one leg between his and her tail arranged across both of them. Her sleep shirt had twisted slightly at the shoulder. She pushed it back into place, then placed her paw against the relay casing beneath Daniel’s shirt. “What did you do?”
“Smiled.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That should not cause pain.”
“It was a substantial smile.”
ER said, “The pain response was caused by abdominal and intercostal movement associated with laughter suppression.”
Neris looked at Daniel. “You were laughing.”
“Quietly.”
“That does not reduce mechanical stress.”
“It reduces complaints from neighbours.”
“You do not have neighbours within hearing distance.”
“Marcel might be awake.”
“Marcel is approximately six kilometres away.”
“Sound carries.”
Neris’s muzzle shifted. Daniel looked at her. “You almost smiled.”
“No.”
“ER?”
“I decline involvement.”
Daniel settled his head deeper into the pillow. “Coward.”
“Prudent observer.”
The wrong music played once more. Neris reached back and silenced the phone. The family image remained frozen above the desk: Teral, Linnea, Ormaz, Lysa, Jaydee. Daniel looked at the child’s face. “Think she meant it?”
“Which part?”
“Bringing me eventually.”
Neris went still, but only for a moment. Her paw moved from the relay to Daniel’s chest. “She frequently means things before determining whether they are possible.”
“Another family trait.”
“Yes.”
Daniel watched the image. Neris closed it. The office returned to ordinary darkness. He felt her attention turn inward rather than away. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Six fourteen,” ER replied.
Daniel looked toward the speaker. “Why are you always awake?”
“I am the ship.”
“You’re in the phone.”
“The distinction is geographical, not existential.”
Neris sat up, her tail remaining across Daniel’s legs until the last possible moment and reached for the clothing folded on the chair. A compact dark bag stood beside it. Daniel had seen the bag the night before but assumed it held medical equipment; now he could see clothes, tools, a grooming brush and the small case containing the remnants of Neris’s courier supplies near the open top. Daniel looked at it.
“You packed.”
Neris followed his gaze. “I collected necessary items.”
“That’s packing.”
“We move between the farmhouse and Takuhai every day.”
“You’ve been doing that without a bag.”
“It is inefficient.”
Daniel studied her face. She met his eyes. The bag stood between them without physically occupying the space. “I have not decided anything,” she said.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were going to.”
“Probably.”
Neris picked up her trousers. “The corridor is only feasible. It is not scheduled.”
“Right.”
“We do not know what preparation will be required.”
“No.”
“Keeping tools together is practical.”
Daniel looked toward the ceiling. “Practical.” Her ears angled back. He regretted the tone. Neris sat on the edge of the bed. The bag remained on the floor. Daniel reached for her paw. She gave it to him. “I know you’re not leaving today,” he said.
“No.”
“I know that.”
Neris’s fingers closed around his. “The bag does not mean I want to leave sooner.”
“I know.”
“It may mean the opposite.”
Daniel looked at her. She did not explain because she did not need to. Preparing was one way to hold back panic, and he understood that language; before Emily’s hospital appointments, he had sharpened tools that did not need sharpening, reorganized screws and checked gates twice. Work turned fear into objects. Daniel raised Neris’s paw and pressed his mouth to the fur at the base of her fingers.
“Breakfast,” he said.
Her ears lifted slightly. “You require assistance dressing.”
“I’m aware.”
“You argued yesterday.”
“I’m evolving.”
ER said, “Rate of evolution remains disputed.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker. “You’re not invited to breakfast.”
“I am present in the kitchen relay.”
“That’s not the same as invited.”
Neris stood. Her tail passed over Daniel’s hip as she moved. “Your trousers,” she said.
Daniel closed his eyes. “Eleven minutes.”
Neris paused. “What?”
ER answered. “Daniel’s current record for dressing his lower body.”
“I wasn’t competing.”
“That is fortunate.”
Neris made the quiet breath-sound Daniel now recognized as laughter. He opened his eyes. “You’re both enjoying this.”
“No,” she said.
“Confirmed,” ER said.
Daniel pointed toward the speaker. “You contradict each other when it’s useful.”
“Household efficiency,” ER replied.
It took Daniel nine minutes and forty-seven seconds to put on his trousers. ER did not announce the improvement until Daniel asked. Daniel immediately regretted asking.
By seven thirty, he sat at the kitchen table with the support frame beside him, the medical relay beneath his shirt and Neris’s tail wrapped loosely around one of his ankles. The farmhouse had recovered its morning rhythm. Coffee. Toast. Eggs. Weather. The wrong music no longer played, but Daniel could hear it in memory.
Neris checked the network status from the tablet. The formal protected-contact channel remained active and the return corridor feasible, but no new message had arrived. Daniel looked toward the window as a truck turned onto the lane.
“Marcel,” he said.
Neris glanced at the clock. “Eight twenty-six.”
“He’s early.”
“He arrived at eight twenty-nine yesterday.”
“Exactly.”
“That suggests consistency.”
“That suggests he wants to say he was here before eight thirty.”
The truck slowed beside the yard. A flatbed trailer followed behind it carrying steel pipe, feed-handling components and a compact gravity hopper with a hand-operated slide gate. Marcel parked near the workshop. He climbed out, looked toward the office window and lifted one hand. Daniel returned the gesture. Neris stood. Her tail uncurled from his ankle.
“You will remain inside.”
“No.”
She turned. Daniel reached for the support frame. “I can sit by the workshop door.”
“You walked farther than recommended yesterday.”
“ER?”
“Daniel’s projected safe assisted walking range is forty-two metres, provided rest intervals are observed.”
“The workshop is closer than that.”
“From the kitchen?”
Daniel looked toward the yard. ER displayed the route on the tablet. Forty-six metres. “Close.”
Neris folded her arms. Daniel continued. “Tractor ride.”
“You cannot climb into the cab.”
“Utility sled.”
“The temperature is minus sixteen.”
“Coat.”
“Your respiratory recovery remains incomplete.”
“Scarf.”
Neris’s ears flattened. Daniel leaned back. “Compromise.”
“You use that word when you want me to accept a worse plan.”
“It’s a useful word.”
Marcel knocked at the back door. Neris did not look away from Daniel.
“One hour,” she said.
“Two.”
“One.”
“Ninety minutes.”
“Sixty.”
“Seventy-five.”
ER said, “Seventy-two minutes would align with the next analgesic cycle.”
Daniel stared at the tablet. “Fine.”
Neris opened the door. Marcel entered carrying cold air, a thermos and a paper bag. His gaze moved from Daniel to the support frame, then to Neris. He had seen her the previous day. That did not make the second look less deliberate.
“Morning,” Marcel said.
“Morning,” Daniel replied.
Marcel set a covered container on the table. “Edith sent cinnamon buns.”
Daniel looked at it. “Of course she did.”
“I mentioned I was coming over.”
“And she handed you those?”
“Pretty much.”
Daniel lifted the lid. “There are twelve.”
“She knows you’re hurt.”
“I’m not twelve-cinnamon-buns hurt.”
Marcel removed his hat. “Apparently that wasn’t your decision.”
Neris closed the door. Marcel watched the movement of her tail as it cleared the frame. His gaze remained respectful. Still curious.
“Cold out,” he said.
“Yes,” Neris replied.
“You got winter boots?”
She looked down at the insulated boots Daniel had modified for her feet. “Yes.”
“Good.”
Marcel poured coffee from the pot without asking. He looked at Daniel again. “You coming outside?”
“For seventy-two minutes.”
Marcel looked at Neris. “She timing you?”
“ER will.”
Marcel waited. Daniel saw the question. “ER is the one in the phone.”
The phone on the table said, “Good morning, Marcel.”
Marcel stopped pouring just as the coffee reached the rim. His hand was not quite steady. Coffee spilled over the rim. He set the pot down. “The phone talks.”
“The phone relays,” ER said. “I am elsewhere.”
Marcel wiped the coffee with a cloth. “Where?”
Neris’s gaze moved toward Daniel. He answered. “In the woods.”
“That’s not useful.”
“No.”
Marcel drank the coffee anyway. He looked at Neris. “You talk to it like a person.”
“He is a person.”
Marcel’s eyebrows rose. ER said, “The distinction remains important.”
Marcel looked at the phone. “You’re the ship.”
“Yes.”
Marcel took another drink. “Fine.”
Daniel stared at him. “That’s it?”
Marcel shrugged. “I met an alien yesterday. Today the spaceship talks. There’s a progression.”
Neris’s ears tilted. “I am not certain whether that is acceptance.”
“It’s scheduling,” Marcel replied. “I’ve got feed equipment on the trailer and cattle waiting.”
He picked up one of the cinnamon buns. “Questions after work.”
The utility sled had been repurposed again.
Neris added a high-backed chair, two blankets and a canvas windbreak around Daniel’s left side. Marcel watched the preparation. “You sure he should be outside?”
“No,” Neris said.
Daniel looked at her. “We agreed.”
“We agreed he would be outside briefly. That does not mean it is medically preferable.”
Marcel nodded. “Sound married.”
Daniel coughed on cold air. Pain caught beneath his ribs. Neris’s paw went immediately to his back. Marcel’s amusement gave way to concern. “You alright?”
“Fine.”
“He is not fine,” Neris said.
“I’m improving.”
“That is different.”
Marcel looked between them. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”
Neris secured the blanket around Daniel’s legs. Her tail curled once around his waist while she checked the chair straps, then released him. They moved toward the workshop. The damaged auger remained chained and marked. Snow had gathered along the bottom of the drive housing. The torn mounting point looked smaller than Daniel remembered. That bothered him. Objects that nearly killed someone should look different afterward.
The new gravity hopper on Marcel’s trailer was simple. Steel cone. Wide top. Manual slide gate. No internal moving parts. A short chute could feed the blue tote directly. Neris examined the frame. “The discharge height is compatible with the tote.”
“Barely,” Marcel said.
“We can raise the frame twelve centimetres.”
“Was thinking ten.”
“Twelve provides better clearance if snow accumulates.”
Marcel looked at the packed ground. “Fair.”
Daniel watched from the sled.
“You’ll need bracing on the south side.”
Marcel nodded. “Already cut it.”
“Cross-brace?”
“On the trailer.”
“Anchor plates?”
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“You can let someone else have an idea before you ask.”
Daniel leaned back. “I was confirming.”
Neris looked at him. “You criticize through questions.”
Marcel glanced between them. “She’s learned you fast.”
“Too fast.”
Neris and Marcel unloaded the hopper using the tractor forks. She operated the controls. Marcel guided the base. Daniel watched the bucket angle. He did not comment. ER’s camera feed appeared on the portable screen beside him. “Bucket angle within acceptable range,” ER said privately through the earpiece.
Daniel muttered, “I know.”
Neris looked toward him from the cab. She had heard. Marcel did not. The installation went smoothly. The hopper settled onto its raised frame. The twelve-centimetre extension aligned the chute above the tote lid with enough clearance for ice and packed snow. Marcel bolted the cross-brace into place. Neris held the frame steady.
Daniel instructed them to check level. Neris had already placed the tool on the upper rail. The bubble sat centred. “No correction required,” she said.
Marcel looked at Daniel. “You train her?”
“No.”
Neris’s tail lifted behind her. “I observed.”
Marcel tightened the final anchor. “Better than most apprentices.”
Daniel smiled. “She argues more.”
“That’s most apprentices too.”
They tested the gate with a small amount of feed. It opened smoothly. Grain flowed without bridging. The tote filled. Neris closed the slide. The replacement used no motors, enclosed shaft or hidden weld turning under load—only gravity and a steel plate. Daniel looked toward the feed shed. The old auger tube crossed overhead from the bin to the mixer area. “Could replace the inner shaft,” he said.
Marcel straightened. “You could.”
“New drive housing.”
“Yes.”
“Reinforce the mounts.”
“Yes.”
“Inspect the entire tube.”
“You could do all that.”
Marcel wiped his gloves against his coat. “Or we isolate it until spring, pull the whole assembly and replace the line.”
“That costs more.”
“Less than another funeral.” The words landed hard. Marcel looked away immediately.
“Sorry.”
Daniel stared at the damaged housing. “No.”
Neris moved closer to the sled. Her paw came to rest on Daniel’s shoulder. He covered it with his hand. “We keep the new hopper,” he said.
Marcel waited. “Manual system through winter. Portable mixer. Replace the auger line in spring.”
Marcel nodded once. “Good.”
Neris looked at the old auger. “Mephits believe valuable things deserve effort before replacement.”
Daniel glanced up at her. “That sounds like an argument for fixing it.”
“It depends on what is valuable.”
“The auger.”
“No.”
Daniel waited. “The farm,” she said. “The machine supports the farm. The machine is not the farm.” Marcel looked at her. Neris’s paw remained beneath Daniel’s. “Repair is not always restoration,” she continued. “Sometimes repair means changing the shape so the valuable thing can continue.”
Daniel followed her gaze from the broken housing to the cattle yard. The farm rather than the auger; the household rather than its current arrangement. He looked away first. Marcel did not ask why the silence changed. He returned to the frame and tightened a bolt that did not need tightening.
After several minutes, he said, “I need to ask something.” Daniel knew the question was not about machinery. Neris’s ears moved. Marcel faced her. “Are you the reason he isn’t in a hospital?”
Neris’s paw tightened on Daniel’s shoulder. “Yes.”
Daniel said, “That’s not the whole answer.”
Marcel looked at him. Neris continued before Daniel could.
“I am the reason he survived long enough to avoid one.”
“You’re the reason I survived,” Daniel said. “Full stop.”
Neris turned toward him. Marcel looked between them. “What did you do?”
Neris’s eyes returned to Marcel. “Emergency treatment.”
“Human medicine?”
“No.”
Marcel’s face changed with recognition of scale rather than fear. Daniel watched him connect the relay beneath his shirt, the speed of his recovery, the absence of ambulance tracks and the impossible woman standing beside him. Marcel looked toward the woods.
Marcel’s questions came in the practical sequence of a man testing the boundaries of a problem. There was a ship. It was where Daniel had been treated. Claire knew. Police, doctors and Earth governments did not. Nobody from Earth was expected to arrive with trucks and lights.
Daniel made the mistake of phrasing the last answer too precisely. Marcel caught it at once. Neris stepped between the sled and the damaged auger and entered the conversation as herself. “My people know I am here.” Marcel repeated the phrase, then absorbed the larger implication: there were more people like her, and some of them might eventually come.
“Possibly,” Neris said. Daniel watched Marcel fit that possibility into a world that had already changed several times in the past week. The cattle shifted in the yard. A chain rattled against a post. Somewhere behind the barn, Mabel struck the gate. Clang. ER said privately through Daniel’s earpiece, “One.”
Marcel’s eyes moved toward the sound. His gaze returned to Neris. “What are you?”
“Mephit.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“It is the correct answer.”
Marcel breathed out through his nose. “Fine. I don’t know what a mephit is.”
Neris waited. “But I know what someone looks like when they haven’t slept because they’re keeping a friend alive.”
Neris’s ears lowered. Marcel continued. “I know Daniel trusts you. I know the cattle follow you without panicking. I know you checked the chute alignment before I did.”
“That last point appears influential,” ER said through Daniel’s phone.
Marcel looked toward the sled. “You’re listening?”
“Yes.”
Marcel looked upward as though the ship might be in the clouds. “Do you listen all the time?”
“No.”
“Good.”
ER paused. “Your definition of all the time may differ from mine.”
Marcel stared at the phone. Daniel rubbed one hand over his face. “He’s working on boundaries.”
“I have boundaries.”
“Most are technical.”
Marcel looked at Neris again. “I’m not promising I understand any of this.”
“We do not require immediate understanding,” she said.
“I’m not promising I’m comfortable.”
“That would be unreasonable.”
“I’m promising I won’t tell anyone today.”
Daniel lifted his head. “Today?”
Marcel gave him a tired look. “I have a wife. She notices when I come home after meeting extraterrestrials.”
“You can’t tell her yet.”
“I know.”
The answer held irritation and loyalty. Marcel looked toward the house. “How long?”
Daniel glanced at Neris. She answered. “Unknown.”
“That’s going to become a problem.”
“Yes.”
“Especially if more ships come.”
“Yes.”
Marcel put his gloves back on. “Then figure it out before Edith figures out I’m hiding something.”
Daniel smiled. “That gives us about two days.”
“Optimistic.”
Marcel turned toward the hopper. “Show me the gate operation again.” Neris stepped beside him. The conversation ended because the work continued.
The formal corridor packet arrived while Marcel was still in the yard. ER interrupted through Daniel’s phone. “Priority protected-contact communication.” Neris’s head turned. Daniel heard significance tighten the precision in ER’s voice without turning it into alarm.
“Medical?” Neris asked. “No. Transit planning.”
Marcel looked between them. Daniel unfastened the sled strap. “We need to go inside.”
“You’re at forty-eight minutes,” Neris said.
“Good timing.”
“You cannot walk back.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Marcel looked at the gravity hopper. “I can finish.” Neris hesitated. The packet waited. The farm waited. Daniel watched her choose.
“Go,” Marcel said. “I know how to tighten bolts.”
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