The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 4: The Market
Six days after the crash, on the first Saturday Neris spent on Earth, she saw the nearest town through the passenger window of Daniel’s truck but did not leave it. Takuhai’s cultural assessment and her English remained incomplete, and no borrowed clothing could disguise her appearance at close range. Daniel needed a stainless valve, ceramic insulation and several lengths of tubing for the coolant manifold, so Neris would identify likely materials from the truck while he collected from the farm-supply shop. Daniel called it getting out of the woods.
Before leaving, they negotiated what would happen if the truck failed, if police stopped them, or if someone recognized that Neris was not human. Daniel carried a blanket large enough to cover her completely, a written list of harmless explanations, and enough farm paperwork to justify the fittings and tubing in the truck. Neris carried no advanced tool that could be discovered. ER would accompany them through a communicator connected to an encrypted relay Daniel and Neris had installed beneath the dashboard.
“If the link fails, you return directly,” ER said.
“If the truck fails, returning directly becomes difficult,” Daniel replied.
“Avoid mechanical failure.”
“Excellent plan.”
They left the farm before sunrise. The Moose River district lay far enough north that distance affected every errand. The road was narrow, patched, and rimmed with dark spruce. Low ground held black water beneath skin-thin ice. Hydro poles followed the cleared corridor toward the settlement, proof that the outside world remained connected even where the forest appeared endless. Neris sat low in the passenger seat wearing Daniel’s largest coat, a deep hood, a scarf across her muzzle, and tinted glasses that concealed the unusual size of her eyes. A folded blanket covered her tail across the footwell.
“The vehicle produces seven vibration signatures outside its manufacturer’s intended range,” ER reported through the link.
Daniel turned onto the main road. “It’s a farm truck.”
“That statement does not refute my analysis.”
Neris watched forest give way to cleared fields, storage sheds, scattered houses, and machinery parked for winter. The civilization was technologically young by Xianglume standards, yet the landscape had been shaped by generations of continuous intention.
“Every household maintains separate equipment,” she said.
“Mostly.”
“This appears inefficient.”
“You say that a lot.”
“Your world provides many opportunities.”
At the edge of town, traffic increased. Neris’s ears moved constantly beneath the loose hood, tracking engines, voices, doors, dogs, music, and the thin electrical whine of systems Daniel no longer noticed.
The farmers market occupied a paved square beside an old community hall. Daniel parked where Neris could see without being easily seen and lowered the window a few centimetres.
The result overwhelmed her.
She could separate individual scents but identifying them did little to reduce the intensity. Human skin carried soap, wool, tobacco, cold air, illness, exertion and food. Apples differed by variety, and every bread stall smelled slightly different. A generator behind the community hall produced a vibration she felt through the truck floor. Somewhere nearby, a child had spilled a sweet drink and was doing a poor job of hiding the evidence.
People greeted one another without formal identification. They exchanged food, money, information, and small complaints about weather. Children moved through the crowd with a degree of freedom that would have alarmed a shipboard safety officer. Dogs led their humans toward anything edible.
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