The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 9: A Trip to Town
By the fourth week, Neris’s English had become good enough to be dangerous.
She understood most literal speech. She could follow ordinary conversation when people spoke clearly. Idioms remained a minefield, humour depended on assumptions her implant could not supply, and contractions occasionally collapsed into sounds that seemed deliberately unhelpful.
She wanted to go into town anyway.
“Observation from the truck is no longer sufficient,” she told Daniel.
They stood in the farmhouse mudroom surrounded by clothing.
The disguise was not intended to make her look human. No arrangement of fabric could accomplish that at close range. Its purpose was to prevent anyone from seeing enough detail to understand what they were looking at.
Daniel had found an oversized winter coat with a deep hood. A scarf covered the lower half of her muzzle. Dark glasses concealed the size and shape of her eyes. Gloves hid her paws.
The most difficult problem was her tail.
Neris compressed it beneath the coat using two broad cloth supports and an improvised sling around her waist. The result was uncomfortable and gave her silhouette the appearance of someone carrying a bedroll beneath her clothing.
“You look like you’re smuggling a sleeping bag,” Daniel said.
“I am smuggling part of my body.”
“Fair point.”
ER spoke through the communicator, its encrypted link relaying his voice from Takuhai.
“The concealment strategy has a projected success probability of sixty-three percent during brief encounters and nine percent during medical examination.”
“We are not planning a medical examination,” Neris said.
“This improves the projected outcome.”
Daniel adjusted the hood without touching her ears. “Rule one: we leave if you feel exposed. Rule two: you don’t owe anyone conversation. Rule three: if something goes wrong, follow me and let ER complain later.”
“I object to the structure of rule three,” ER said.
“That’s why it works.”
The hardware-and-feed cooperative sat at the edge of the nearest service town, large enough for anonymity but small enough that Daniel knew the owner and half the customers knew his truck. It sold fencing supplies, mineral supplements, hydraulic hose, winter clothing, chainsaw parts, and enough household goods to spare northern residents a longer drive south.
Neris entered beside Daniel with her head lowered against the cold. Her tail remained tightly constrained, an absence she felt with every step.
The automatic doors opened.
She stopped.
Warm air moved across her face carrying rubber, cut timber, fertilizer, paint, metal, dust, and dozens of humans. Carts rattled. A child cried somewhere near the garden section. Music played through ceiling speakers. Fluorescent lights flickered at frequencies most humans did not perceive.
Daniel waited without turning the pause into attention.
“Still good?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Her voice sounded muffled by the scarf.
They moved through the aisles. Neris studied shelves of tools with intense professional interest. Human devices were inefficient, heavy, and wonderfully repairable. Components exposed their purpose. Fasteners could be removed. Housings could be opened. A person with knowledge and patience could keep a machine operating long beyond its intended life.
“Your civilization permits consumers to repair many objects themselves,” she said quietly.
“Less than it used to.”
“That is unfortunate.”
They found ceramic bushings, copper braid, shielding mesh, and a set of precision files. Daniel also loaded cattle mineral and two heater elements into the cart so the purchase looked like an ordinary winter farm run.
Neris examined a display of calving chains and assumed they were lifting equipment until Daniel explained their purpose. Her ears lowered beneath the hood.
“You assist birth with metal chains?”
“Only when the calf is stuck, and carefully.”
“Your species has made reproduction an equipment category.”
“Farming makes most things an equipment category.”
Neris compared two brands of precision file while Daniel watched her become absorbed enough to forget the crowd.
A store employee approached. “Can I help you find anything?”
Neris froze for less than a second.
The implant offered several possible replies. Daniel did not answer for her.
“A fine abrasive file,” she said. “For ceramic material.”
The employee pointed toward the next aisle. “Diamond-coated. Blue package.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
The human walked away.
Neris stared after him.
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