The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 32: The Last Protocol
The last requirement was not about propulsion.
Daniel hated that.
Propulsion he understood, at least in the broad sense.
Something pushed.
Something resisted.
Something failed.
You found the weak point and repaired it.
The last requirement sat on the kitchen tablet beneath a protected-contact authorization header and refused to become mechanical.
POST-DEPARTURE COMMUNICATION PROTOCOL: REQUIRED
Daniel read it again.
Neris sat opposite him with both paws around a mug of coffee she had forgotten to drink.
Claire occupied the end of the table, already holding a pencil.
ER spoke through the kitchen speaker.
“The protocol must establish expected communication stages following transit.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“We know what happens. You leave. I wait.”
“That is insufficiently defined.”
“Seems accurate.”
Claire turned the pencil in her fingers.
“What exactly needs defining?”
ER projected the request above the table.
TRANSIT ENTRY CONFIRMATION
EXPECTED EMERGENCE WINDOW
POST-EMERGENCE SIGNAL OPTIONS
ROUTING AND REPAIR DELAYS
ARRIVAL CONFIRMATION
FAILURE THRESHOLDS
Daniel’s attention stopped at the last line.
“No.”
Neris’s ears lowered.
Claire did not ask what he meant.
ER did.
“Which element are you rejecting?”
“You know which.”
“Failure thresholds are required.”
“Then put ‘unknown.’”
“That would not constitute a protocol.”
Daniel leaned back.
His healing pelvis objected less than it would have a week earlier.
His mood did not improve.
“So we’re writing instructions for how long I’m supposed to hope.”
The room went quiet.
ER answered without softening it.
“Yes.”
Claire’s pencil stopped.
Neris looked at Daniel.
He wished ER had lied.
Not permanently.
Just once.
Something gentle and useless.
Instead, ER continued.
“Indefinite uncertainty would create avoidable harm.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“To who?”
“You.”
“I’m not part of the transit.”
“You are part of the consequences.”
Neris’s tail moved beneath the table and curled around Daniel’s ankle.
He looked down.
Then back at the projected list.
“Fine.”
Claire slid a clean sheet of paper into the middle of the table.
Daniel sighed.
“Another chart.”
“You like my charts.”
“I tolerate them.”
“You use them.”
“Under duress.”
Claire drew a line down the page.
“This isn’t one event.”
Daniel knew immediately what she meant.
He disliked that too.
Claire wrote:
ENTRY
Then below it:
EMERGENCE
STABILIZATION
TRAVEL
ARRIVAL
She looked at Daniel.
“You’re treating leaving as if Neris walks through a door and then either phones you or doesn’t.”
“That’s basically it.”
“No.”
Neris watched Claire with interest.
Claire pointed at the first line.
“First, they enter the corridor.”
“Yes,” ER said.
“Then they have to emerge.”
“Yes.”
“Then they might be damaged.”
“Yes.”
“Then they’re still eleven days from Xianglume.”
“Approximately eleven conventional courier days under normal propulsion.”
“And then they arrive.”
“Yes.”
Claire set the pencil down.
“That’s five separate points where silence can mean different things.”
Daniel looked at the list.
It made sense.
He resented it for that.
Neris said quietly, “Claire is correct.”
“Everyone’s very correct lately.”
“You dislike conclusions that do not improve through argument.”
“I dislike conclusions.”
“That is broader.”
ER projected a transit model.
The corridor appeared as overlapping fields rather than a tunnel.
Daniel understood none of it.
What he understood was the small representation of Takuhai entering from one side and vanishing before appearing again far away.
ER highlighted the exit region.
“We may be able to transmit a minimal emergence beacon.”
Daniel looked up.
“May?”
“It requires allocating power before transit.”
“How much?”
“Approximately one point four percent of the post-emergence reserve.”
Neris’s ears shifted.
“That reserve is already below preferred minimum.”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked between them.
“No.”
Neris turned toward him.
“The beacon has rescue value.”
“You need power more than I need reassurance.”
“It is not only reassurance.”
“Then what?”
ER changed the projection.
“If Takuhai emerges but loses primary communications, the beacon may allow Veyra to identify our position and condition.”
“May.”
“Yes.”
“So it helps them find you.”
“Yes.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes.
“And it tells me you got out.”
“If relay succeeds.”
“There it is.”
Neris placed one paw over his hand.
“Daniel.”
“I’m not saying don’t use it if it keeps you alive.”
“It may.”
“I’m saying don’t spend power just so I get a nicer week.”
ER replied, “Your emotional state after departure is a survival consideration.”
Daniel stared at the speaker.
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to die because I don’t get a message.”
“That is not the only form of harm.”
Daniel stopped.
Claire looked toward the speaker.
Neris’s fingers tightened around his.
ER continued.
“Extended sleep disruption, reduced food intake, impaired concentration, social withdrawal and compulsive monitoring are foreseeable responses to unresolved uncertainty.”
Claire slowly turned toward Daniel.
He pointed at her.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was thinking.”
“Same face.”
Neris’s ears tilted.
ER said, “The emergence beacon benefits rescue operations and reduces uncertainty for Earthside contacts. Both are valid objectives.”
Daniel looked at the projected power allocation.
One point four percent.
Not nothing.
Not enough to justify losing the ship.
“Does it reduce your safety?”
“Marginally.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Post-emergence survival modelling decreases by approximately zero point two percent.”
Daniel leaned back.
“Fine.”
Neris looked at him.
“Fine?”
“Enable it.”
ER changed the status.
EMERGENCE BEACON: ALLOCATED
Daniel looked away.
“Don’t make it cheerful.”
“I had not planned an emotional tone.”
“Good.”
Claire wrote beacon under emergence.
“What does it say?”
ER displayed the packet.
TRANSIT EXIT CONFIRMED
VESSEL FUNCTIONAL STATUS: NOMINAL / DEGRADED / CRITICAL
CREW STATUS: STABLE / UNKNOWN / CRITICAL
ROUTING IDENTIFIER
That was all.
No voice.
No message.
No Neris.
Daniel looked at the word STABLE.
“It could arrive before the eleven days.”
“Yes,” ER said.
“How soon?”
“Between several hours and three days, depending on Veyra relay geometry.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“It does not establish failure.”
Daniel rubbed his face.
“Of course not.”
Claire picked up the pencil.
“Then we need windows.”
Neris looked at Daniel before answering.
“Not alone.”
“What?”
“We make them together.”
Daniel knew she meant more than the schedule.
He nodded.
They began with twenty-four hours.
No concern.
The corridor itself could distort time and delay automated routing.
Then seventy-two hours.
The emergence beacon might arrive by then.
After three days, silence remained compatible with beacon failure, ship damage or delayed relay.
Daniel disliked the phrase remained compatible.
ER insisted it was precise.
Claire wrote it anyway.
The next range took longer.
Three to fourteen days.
Neris and ER might require repairs.
Veyra authorities might restrict transmission.
The emergence point might vary.
Travel toward Xianglume could be slower than normal.
Daniel looked at the page.
“So two weeks means nothing.”
“It means no confirmed arrival,” Neris said.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
Claire wrote:
3–14 DAYS: SILENCE STILL WITHIN PLAUSIBLE OPERATIONAL DELAY
Daniel hated the sentence.
He hated the next one more.
14–21 DAYS: ELEVATED CONCERN
He stared at it.
Claire did not move on.
Daniel looked at Neris.
“When does it become failure?”
Neris’s tail tightened around his ankle.
ER answered.
“Beyond twenty-one days without emergence beacon, Veyra confirmation, routing acknowledgment or arrival communication, serious transit or post-transit failure should be presumed.”
“Presumed.”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
ER paused.
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“What does presumed failure actually mean?”
“It means you stop structuring every hour around the expectation of immediate contact.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“That isn’t the same as giving up.”
“No.”
“It isn’t saying you’re dead.”
“No.”
“It’s just telling me to stop waiting.”
“No.”
ER’s voice remained calm.
“It means changing the way you wait.”
Daniel looked down at the paper.
Neris’s paw covered his.
“You may continue hoping,” she said.
He looked at her.
“For how long?”
Her eyes held his.
“As long as you choose.”
That answer he could live with.
Claire added the final threshold.
Not death.
Not closure.
A change in behaviour.
A rule against spending every hour staring at the receiver.
They sat quietly afterward.
The farmhouse clock clicked once.
Snow moved against the kitchen window.
Claire looked at the dates on her phone.
Then at the countdown.
Her expression changed.
“Christmas.”
Daniel looked up.
“What?”
“The waiting period.”
She turned the phone toward him.
“If you leave when the corridor opens, Christmas lands about eight days later.”
Neris looked between them.
“What changes on Christmas?”
Daniel leaned back.
The question was simple enough that he almost laughed.
Instead, he looked toward the dark window.
“Usually people try not to be alone.”
Neris’s ears lowered.
Claire spoke immediately.
“You won’t be.”
Daniel looked at her.
“That wasn’t a request.”
“I know.”
“I can manage Christmas.”
“I know.”
“That sounded like you didn’t believe me.”
“It sounded exactly like I believe you can manage it and don’t think you should have to.”
Neris’s tail curled more tightly around his ankle.
Daniel looked at her.
She understood now.
Not the holiday itself.
The timing.
Her absence placed inside something meant for gathering.
“You will not be alone,” she said.
Daniel smiled faintly.
“You leaving Claire instructions now?”
“I already have several.”
Claire nodded.
“She does.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“I’m surrounded.”
“Yes,” Neris said.
The communication receiver took most of the afternoon.
Protected-contact restrictions prevented Neris from leaving a sophisticated Xianglume network device on Earth.
The approved module could do very little.
Receive authenticated packets.
Verify origin.
Store text.
Signal when new data arrived.
Nothing more.
No transmitter without external authorization.
No network access.
No useful reverse engineering.
Daniel approved of the limitations.
Claire called that suspicious.
The internal module was alien.
The housing was not.
Daniel stood in the workshop doorway while Neris set the components on the bench.
He was allowed twenty-two minutes upright.
ER had specified twenty.
Daniel had negotiated.
Neris had not agreed.
The maple came from a narrow offcut left over from the resonator cradle.
Daniel ran his hand over the grain.
“You’re using that?”
“Yes.”
“Could use plastic.”
“Yes.”
“Metal.”
“Yes.”
“But maple.”
Neris looked at him.
“Yes.”
Daniel understood.
He sat.
He did not complain.
Much.
They made the housing together.
Daniel marked the cuts.
Neris performed most of them because his pelvis still objected to standing at the saw.
He cleaned the edges with a block plane while seated.
Claire held pieces when needed and made comments about tolerances until Daniel threatened to classify her as a construction inspector.
ER monitored internal dimensions.
The result was a small rectangular box with rounded corners.
Simple.
Smooth.
One dark display set into the maple face.
One indicator light.
One button.
Daniel turned it in his hands.
“So this is the thing I stare at for eleven days.”
Neris sat beside him.
“You are not permitted to stare at it continuously.”
“Who enforces that?”
Claire answered from across the bench.
“I have a schedule.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Of course you do.”
“Four checks per day after the first seventy-two hours.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Three.”
“More ridiculous.”
“Two.”
Neris looked at Daniel.
“One in the morning. One in the evening.”
He frowned.
“You negotiated fast.”
“I know you.”
ER said, “Compulsive manual checking does not affect message arrival.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“I understand causality.”
“Evidence suggests emotional states can degrade practical application.”
Claire smiled.
Daniel ignored everyone.
He ran his thumb over the maple housing.
Neris’s hand covered his.
The device was not beautiful.
That made it better.
It belonged on a farmhouse kitchen table.
Not in a laboratory.
Not in a museum.
A small wooden box waiting for a message from another universe.
Neris’s inventory request returned while they were still in the workshop.
ER announced it casually.
“Personal-effects appeal processed.”
Neris froze.
Daniel looked up.
“The mug?”
“And the carving,” Neris said.
Claire glanced between them.
“What carving?”
Daniel frowned.
“The practice piece.”
Neris looked at him.
“It is not merely practice.”
“It isn’t anything.”
“It is something.”
ER displayed the authorization.
EARTH-ORIGIN PERSONAL EFFECTS REVIEW
ITEM 1: CHIPPED CERAMIC DRINKING VESSEL
ITEM 2: HAND-CARVED MAPLE OBJECT
Daniel read the descriptions.
“That makes them sound terrible.”
“The classifications are accurate,” Neris said.
Claire stepped closer.
“What was the problem?”
“Earth-origin material transported through protected contact requires review,” ER said. “Biological contamination, undeclared technical samples and uncontrolled cultural acquisition are restricted.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
“And you appealed.”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell them?”
Her ears shifted.
“The truth.”
ER opened the supporting explanation.
Daniel read.
ITEMS POSSESS NO MATERIAL TECHNICAL VALUE.
ITEMS ARE REQUESTED AS PERSONAL EFFECTS DUE TO EMOTIONAL SIGNIFICANCE TO COURIER VAEL.
The next line made Daniel stop.
CERAMIC VESSEL ASSOCIATED WITH DAILY HOUSEHOLD ROUTINE AND LOCAL HOME ENVIRONMENT.
Then:
WOODEN OBJECT PRODUCED BY DANIEL MERCER DURING RECOVERY OF PREVIOUSLY ABANDONED PERSONAL PRACTICE; RETAINED AS REPRESENTATION OF LOCAL RELATIONSHIP AND HOUSEHOLD BELONGING.
Daniel read it again.
Neris had gone very still beside him.
Claire looked carefully at the opposite wall.
ER displayed the decision.
APPROVED FOR TRANSIT AS PERSONAL EFFECTS
BIOLOGICAL DECONTAMINATION REQUIRED
SCIENTIFIC SAMPLING PROHIBITED WITHOUT FUTURE CONTACT AUTHORIZATION
Daniel looked at Neris.
“You told them the carving meant that?”
“It does.”
“It’s barely carved.”
“Yes.”
“You can still see where I changed direction halfway through.”
“Yes.”
“The bottom isn’t flat.”
“I know.”
“It falls over.”
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