Stitching Snow (5 page)

He spun the terminal display to face me and watched as I 34

R.C. ll E WI S

punched in a list of replacement parts. Not quite Garamite stock, but Ticktock seemed to think they’d get it done.

“Why’re yeh helping that strange boy, Essie? We got him out of his ship still breathin’, but we’ve got no obligation to him beyond that.”

“And you had no obligation to me when I arrived.”

“Is that how it is? A scrawny, half-starved child yeh were, but the sharpest mind I’ve seen. Helpin’ yeh was a sound invest-ment. That boy looks like he can take care of himself, and what has he to offer for yer trouble?”

A small step toward making my mother proud, maybe, but I couldn’t tell Petey that. Or that Dane’s mad plan to unite Garam against Windsong made something jitter inside me, and the only way to quiet it was to help him. “Nothing, but he can’t stay. You know that. The more I help, the sooner he’ll be gone. Where is he, anyway?”

“Said he was returnin’ to his ship, would see yeh in the mornin’.”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t know the way.”

“Said he did. And it looked like Dimwit went with him.”

“Great. They’ll both get lost. Here, that’s it.” Petey looked over my order and nodded. “Should be able to get that piped up from the Bands in a day or two. Yeh be careful out there. The men’s frustration with yeh can only be pushed so far, y’know.”

“Aye, I know.”

“And bundle up. It’s a cold one.”

35

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

I resisted the urge to trudge out to the shuttle and check that Dane had made it there safely. If he’d gotten lost, it was his fault.

Or mine for leaving him on his own, but I tried not to think that. Instead, I sat at my computer and cracked into networks I wasn’t supposed to reach, searching for more information on the Garamite shuttle design.

It was a puzzle, no doubt, and different from any I’d encoun-tered in the settlement. Sheer novelty was half the reason I’d agreed to help. But I couldn’t deny that the mechanical systems were beyond me, so I downloaded what I found to the drones, adding to the knowledge base Ticktock had started. I couldn’t keep the same drone back from the mine every day—the men would notice and make a fuss. Each drone had skills that’d be useful in repairing the shuttle, though. I’d make it work.

By morning, Dimwit was in its spot, recharging with the others, so Dane was probably fi ne. My assumption was confi rmed an hour later when I arrived at the shuttle, Dimwit and Clank in tow. I banged on the hatch, and Dane opened it.

One problem I’d spotted in the schematics right away: Garamite shuttles weren’t designed to be repaired by Thandan mining drones. Making the prettiest exterior meant the guts of the thing were awkward enough for
me
to get to, let alone the drones’ bulky metal bodies.

“Where did Ticktock want us to start, Clank?” I asked.

“Repair coolant system to bring engine online,” it said.

“Right, then. Pull up Ticktock’s instructions and tell me what to do.”

Dane’s eyes stayed on me as I removed my coat and slid under a junction, watching how I moved, likely checking how hurt I was. Good thing I’d indulged in a rejuvenator patch for 36

R.C. ll E WI S

that nasty bruise. It still ached, especially when I stretched, but not so much that I couldn’t keep Dane from noticing.

“You broadcast your punches,” he said. “Anyone with eyes can see them coming.”

“Well, I guess my opponents’ eyes are occupied elsewhere most of the time, since I have a winning record. Thank you so much for the advice.” The spark of a welder lit off to one side.

“Dimwit, stop that.”

“Tell me about the ‘great miscalculation’ you mentioned.” I sighed and forced myself not to wince. Clearly, Dane was set on making conversation rather than letting me work in peace.

“How much do you know about merinium?”

“Just that it’s a versatile bio-mineral with lots of uses, which makes it valuable.”

“And do you know where the ‘bio’ part comes in?”

“Something about a reaction with organic waste.” That was extremely understated, but most offworlders didn’t know much more. “One of the few native animal species here is called the harri-harra. It’s a giant worm that burrows in the bed-rock and—Dimwit, I said stop! If you weld your feet together, I’m not fi xing it. Anyway, the harri-harra leaves a trail of secretions and excrement in its wake that seeps into the stone, undergoes a chemical reaction and, after enough time, you have merinium.” I felt Dane’s footsteps approach through the metal deck but couldn’t see him from my position. “Okay, that’s very educa-tional. What’s the miscalculation?”

“The harri-harra are still down there. They don’t like humans, and that sludge they leave behind is deadly during the early stages. Flammable, too. Most settlements lose at least ten percent of their workforce every cycle. The drones were 37

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

originally designed as remote-controlled tools to help with the heavy lifting, but I decided to try upgrading their programming to give them enough brainpower to do some of the dangerous work on their own.”

“Remove damaged microduct,” Clank instructed.

“I’m trying,” I told the drone. It looked like the ship had seen better days even before the crash. “Dane, can you hand me that wrench? No, not that one—blue handle. So far, I’ve got six drones upgraded—seven if you count Dimwit, which I don’t. Enough to manage belowground operations themselves, directing the dumb-drones.”

Dane crouched nearby, having handed me the right item. “I still don’t see the problem.”

“Like you said, we have the highest output on the planet, thanks to the drones. Share value is based on output, so Forty-Two’s shares are worth more than any other settlement’s. As long as each man works an equal shift at the mine—or in my case, does work to support mining operations—they earn their shares. But with the drones, we only need a quarter-crew to monitor and direct from topside each shift. So I made it safer and more effi cient, but I also made a settlement full of men with too much time and too many shares on their hands.” Dane was quiet for so long, Clank and I were actually able to replace the microduct plus a power conduit. I hoped he would keep it shut for the rest of the day so I could get more done, but no such luck.

“You saved their lives,” he said. “But I heard them last night.

A lot of them
liked
seeing you hurt.” I grunted, yanking on a bolt to loosen it. “Don’t ask me to explain how their minds work. They’re bigger malfunctions 38

R.C. ll E WI S

than Dimwit. All I know is they aren’t always appreciative, and some wish I’d ‘appreciate’
them
a little more.” Dane fell silent again for a few sparkling minutes. When he spoke, I got the feeling he was right worked up but trying to hide it. “Be careful, Essie. I also saw how they looked at you when you got out of that cage.”

That was the second such warning I’d gotten in the last day.

Hearing Dane say it felt different from when Petey did. But I’d been on Thanda eight years, most of those in Forty-Two. What made anyone think I couldn’t take care of myself?

“Worry about yourself and eventually getting off this rock,” I said. “Your problems are bigger than mine are bound to be.” Dimwit chose that moment to spot-weld one of its feet to the deck.

As usual, I didn’t include that infuriating bucket of a malfunction in my tally of problems. After all, I could solve that one with a quick hour of dismantling work.

For some reason, though, I never did.

39

4

FOR THREE DAYS,

I restored and reprogrammed bits of the shuttle’s computer system, and I still had plenty left to do, especially in physical repairs. Petey got the parts and materials piped in from the Bands as promised, and it looked like they’d do the job. Maybe. As good as Clank was at microwelding and Clunk at fabricating, they weren’t used to intricate tech that had to survive the vacuum of space. Half the time I could’ve spent programming went to keeping an eye on whatever drone I brought, making sure it didn’t botch anything. Still, I could’ve been faster, but Dane never did fi gure how to shut it and let me work. I thought if I stayed quiet, he’d get the idea, but when he asked questions and I knew the answer, I couldn’t shut my own mouth.

Part of me didn’t mind. He made better conversation than Petey and Whirligig combined, and I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. It couldn’t hurt to enjoy it while it lasted, even if most of what I enjoyed was telling Dane how unhinged he was. But I kept the tack laser handy, just in case.

R.C. ll E WI S

On the third day, the conversation he sparked was more serious. “After the crash, I told you more than I should’ve,” he said, his footsteps approaching from behind me. “Maybe the head trauma, I don’t know. But you haven’t reported my plans to anyone. Not even Petey, really. Why?”

Stretching halfway into an exhaust manifold was an awkward way to work, so I wrenched the faulty regulator off the side and pulled myself out. I handed the part to Whirligig and sat cross-legged on the crate I’d been standing on, watching the drone fi ddle with the regulator. So crude and clunky compared to the elegance of machine code.

“Like Petey said, we don’t want the watchdogs sniffi ng around. And part of me hopes you’ll see how impossible your odds are and just go home.” I chose my words carefully. Part of me hoped he’d beat those long odds and succeed. It’d lift such a weight off me. But I didn’t say that.

“And be happy with the status quo? I don’t think you really believe that. Didn’t you upgrade the drones because you thought it would make things better?”

No, I did it to make a place for myself, to create some standing that
could protect me, with the side effect of helping the miners . . . selfi sh
reasons.

I kept my answer simple. “You could say that.”

“Right. And I have to keep trying to make things better for my people.”

“With some ‘treasure’ that more than likely doesn’t exist? If you want to make things better, just go ask the Exiles for help, offer a treaty, and see if they’ll back your rebellion. Candara’s coming close to us in its orbit right now. Put those sparkling 41

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

Garamite brains together with the Exiles’ military resources and you
might
end up less dead than you would otherwise.” He didn’t answer, so I glanced up. His expression was tense and hesitant. I couldn’t decide whether to smirk or smack him.

“Afraid the Exiles will ‘possess’ you, steal your secrets, and make you their puppet?”

That shook him out of . . . whatever he was lost in. “I’ve heard the rumors aren’t true. I mean, I heard body-hopping isn’t like that. The way I understand it, transitioning to another’s awareness is more about empathy than control.” My breath caught. Transitioning. Empathy. Words my mother had used when talking about the Exiles. I took the regulator back from ’Gig, testing the contacts to ensure it’d been fi xed. Focusing on work helped mask my reaction.

“Empathy sounds like just what you need, so why not go to them? Seems the more direct route to me.”

“Garam won’t unite against Windsong unless we can do it standing on our own.”

I shrugged and pulled myself back into the manifold, setting the regulator in place. “Standing on your own will get you killed, Dane, and that’d be a blazing shame after all this work.”

“I’m as capable of taking care of myself as you.”

“Sure you are.”

“Taking care taking care taking care—”

“Shut it, Dimwit.”

When I emerged again, Dane offered his hand to help me off the crate. I ignored it and jumped down, but Dimwit scuttled past right in front of me, making me stumble into Dane. He helped me right myself, no big deal, but he didn’t move away.

Instead, he ran his thumb across my cheek.

42

R.C. ll E WI S

I swatted his hand down and backed off, both fi sts up and ready in case he tried anything else.

“I—you—just a smudge of grease,” he said.

Just some grease. You’re twitching out over nothing, Essie.

Forcing myself to relax and lower my hands, I snorted. “A touch of grease is nothing new, is it?” Not with the perpetual dust and grime covering every inch of me. I liked it that way.

His head cocked to the side, confusion in his eyes. “No, I guess not.”

I grabbed my slate and headed out of the engine compartment. “I’m going to work on coding the navigation system. Dimwit, stay!”

For once, the malfunction listened.

Leaving Dane with his shuttle at the end of the day brought a touch of relief. Solitude was familiar, comfortable. I needed that.

Back in my lab that night, I worked for hours, writing and testing subroutines, stitching together components that might or might not work. When I couldn’t focus on the readout anymore, I gave it up and went to bed.

Working so late usually put me right to sleep, but not this time. I stared at the ceiling, wide awake, letting the imperfec-tions in the metal above form patterns and pictures in the moonlight. A star. A logic circuit. A waterfall . . . but an ugly one. I’d seen better.

I sat up and opened the trunk at the foot of my bed. The notebook was just where I’d left it. I fll ipped to the right page, and there it was. A high cliff, water cascading from the top, churning 43

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

into foam at the bottom. Trees all around. Mother had captured it perfectly, down to the mist.

I thumbed through the sketches one by one until I came to my favorite—a dragonflly hovering over an orchid. I’d never been able to fi gure how she made a static image so alive with movement.

I’d never been able to fi gure how my mother did a lot of things. I’d managed to stop thinking about it until recently.

The past few days with Dane were botching my brain. Most of the last eight years had been fi lled with perpetual fear. Never able to trust anyone or let the truth slip free. I knew how to handle that, knew how to keep myself separate and safe. I confronted that fear in the cage, beating it down as I beat my opponents, showing them both I was in control.