Stitching Snow

by R. C. Lewis

  “The rule on Thanda is to do what keeps you fed and warm and avoids interference from Windsong,” I said gruffly. “From what I hear, your lot on Garam is spans better than ours, so what do you have to complain about?”

  “We may not have to work in the mines, but we’re not free. Not really. We create, and King Matthias and Queen Olivia take, giving just enough back to keep us complacent and working.”

  “And you think this mysterious ‘treasure’ of yours is enough to change that?”

  He crossed his arms. “Wealth and power do go together, don’t you think?”

  “You’re a blazing fool. No one stands against Windsong.”

  “Some people do.”

  “What, the Exiles? And you see all the good it’s done them. Kicked out of their kingship on Windsong and relegated to the far side of the solar system for a few centuries, and now with their military battling in Windsong’s outlands. That war’s been going eight years, and no progress.”

  “The Exiles aren’t the only ones who’ve stood against the crown. We’ve had rebellions on Garam, even uprisings on Windsong itself.”

  I scoffed. “Not in ages.”

  “Then maybe it’s time for another.” He exhaled sharply, then winced. “Not that any of this will happen if I can’t get off the ground. What about the repairs? I’ll find a way to get whatever parts we need—there has to be a way.”

  I looked at the readout again. Some things already in my lab might help, but trading for the rest would take more shares than I had at the moment, and blazes if I was going to go broke right before the snows for some strange boy.

  My mind clicked through possibilities, trying to find another option. Petey might spot a loan if I asked, but I couldn’t. He had family to support in the Bands. The easiest choice was to just tell Dane he was on his own and good luck to him. The next settlement was nearly fifty links away, though, and they certainly didn’t have anyone who could handle tech like the shuttle’s. Especially the new code that’d have to be written.

  That’s not my problem.

  Mother wouldn’t have thought so. She would’ve helped without worrying about what was in it for her.

  I’m not Mother.

  A chill seeped through my spine, telling me how true the thought was. But it didn’t matter. All I wanted was to keep safe and keep to myself.

  Then again…I could do this one thing my mother would’ve approved of. And as unhinged as Dane’s idea sounded, maybe it could work. Maybe there really was a treasure, and he could find it, and it would be enough wealth for the Garamites to risk uniting against Windsong. And maybe with the Garamites’ tech turned against the crown, Windsong would be defeated. The war would finally end, and the crown’s lies would die with it. No more killing on either side.

  That would be a good thing, even if it rested on some very shaky threads of “maybe.” I sighed and prioritized the list of needed repairs.

  “Give me and Ticktock an hour or so to finish stitching the electrical so you won’t freeze through the night in here. Then we’ll go to the Station, see if Petey can rig a spur.”

  “What’s a spur?”

  “You know, spur of the moment.”

  “But a spur-of-the-moment what?”

  I grunted and shouldered past him on my way to the forward compartment. “There are only two ways to earn extra shares in the settlements, and I already told you—I’m no one’s good time.”

  BY THE TIME DANE AND I got to the Station, the midafternoon crowd had packed in. Most of the men were drinking, a few over card games. Others picked up deliveries from MineNet…then picked up a tankard and joined everyone else. If the staggering drunks weren’t enough to knock Dane over, the stench was ready to do the job.

  “What are we doing here?” he shouted over the din.

  “I told you, getting enough shares to get you back in the air. Now shut it.” I shoved my way through the crowd, drawing plenty of glares that turned wary when they saw a strange boy with me. Clearly word had spread about the crash and the settlement’s visitor.

  Should’ve made him stay with his shuttle.

  “Essie, there yeh are.”

  I turned at the voice, the gravel as recognizable as the crooked nose. “Aye, here I am, Hawkins.”

  “I hear yeh’re not willin’ to fix up the botched transmission on the old pulverizer.”

  “Unwilling and unable. My hands are full with things the mech-bots can’t handle.” He opened his mouth, probably to repeat what Petey had said about the mech-bots only doing half a job, so I cut him off. “I’ll get one of the drones on it when I have the time. Best I can do.”

  Hawkins protested, something about my having a finer touch than the drones, but I stopped listening and continued to push my way to the bar. The men didn’t understand. There was no puzzle to solve when it came to mining equipment, just replacing worn-out parts and kicking it until it worked. No real challenge like Dane’s shuttle offered.

  “Petey!”

  The old miner spotted me and waved for us to follow him into the storeroom, where the noise was more muted. “Our new friend’s up and about, I see.”

  “In better shape than his shuttle, anyway,” I replied.

  “Still no alerts from Immigration Control,” Petey said, shifting his gaze to Dane. “Listen, boy, yeh got in undetected, and no one here wants Windsong’s watchdogs sniffin’ around. But if yeh’re here to make trouble—”

  “I’m not,” Dane said. “I just want to get where I’m going.”

  “And where might that be?”

  A good question. Where did he think he’d find this treasure of his?

  “The Umbergild Ascetics.”

  I stifled a laugh at the answer, and Petey did the same, letting a snort slip through. If Dane thought he could get information from the Ascetics, he didn’t know nearly enough about them.

  “They like to grow them delusional on Garam, and who are we to argue?” I said. “Repairs’ll be steep, though. Think you can rig me a spur?”

  Petey’s mouth always had a bit of a frown, but at my question, the corners turned down even more. “Y’know I wish yeh wouldn’t. Men from other settlements are one thing, but to fight spurs—”

  “Fight?” Dane cut in. “What does he mean, fight?”

  I spun on him. “What do you think that cage out there is for, storing jack-ale?” Turning back to Petey, I continued, “There are always men willing to fight me in a spur, so don’t lecture me.”

  After a long scratch behind his ear, Petey sighed. “Lawrence Moray’s been askin’ for the next time yeh take one. I’ll see to it.”

  Moray was far from my first choice, but I couldn’t very well change my mind after all that. I gave Petey a nod and made my way to my usual washroom to prepare. Dane kept on my heels as doggedly as Dimwit usually did, shoving his way into the small room before I could slam the door.

  Close quarters, no escape route, what weapons could I—? I snipped the thought and ignored him instead, taking off my coat and twisting my hair up to secure under a scarf.

  Dane didn’t feel like being ignored, it seemed. “You’re going to fight one of the miners? In that cage? It’s madness.”

  “Don’t think a girl can handle herself? You wouldn’t be the first to make that mistake.”

  “I’m sure you can, but it’s still insane. How will this earn shares?”

  “Those men out there are looking for some fun, and the good-time girls don’t come through near often enough for some. So the jack-ale starts said fun, and gambling on fights finishes it. Only sport we have on this planet.”

  “Fun…Why are so many of them here having ‘fun’ in the middle of the day? Shouldn’t they be working in the mine? I heard Forty-Two had the highest merinium output of all the Thandan settlements. That’s why I aimed to land my shuttle here when it malfunctioned; I didn’t want to be stranded without help.”

  “Highest output is right, thanks to my great miscalculation. Tell you all about it late
r.”

  He puzzled over that, failed to understand, and shook his head. “Fine. I’ll do it, then. I’ll fight.”

  “What, so I can patch you up again?”

  Dane raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think a Garamite boy can handle himself?”

  I looked him over. He was more than half a head taller than I was, broad-shouldered and fit. Something about taking in his build made my mind blank for a moment, but none of that changed my answer.

  “You want your shuttle repaired? We need all the shares we can get, preferably in a single fight so we can get you on your way that much sooner. The men will bet more to see me take some hits, particularly after what I cost them in my last fight. Nothing like watching the legal beat-down of a girl.”

  His jaw tightened. “That’s sick, Essie.”

  “Welcome to Thanda. Don’t worry so much, Dane. I never said I’d give them what they want.”

  Lawrence Moray was the kind of man I typically kept well clear of—the kind whose gaze set off right nasty jitters under my skin. He’d tried sweet-talking me a couple of years ago, when I’d stopped looking like such a child. After I told him I preferred the look of him from half a link away, his attitude shifted from repulsive to spiteful. It was no surprise that he was looking for a spur with me.

  It did surprise him that I landed the first hit.

  He didn’t move as well as Thacker had the night before, but he had more mass. When I went in for a second hit, he blocked it and grabbed my arm. I tried to slip him, but he socked a kidney-punch. Pain sparked through my torso, and he took advantage of the distraction, shoving me face-first against the cage wire and pinning me there.

  The crowd cheered, banging their tankards on tables and shouting at Moray to let me have it. Through it all, I made out his voice snaking into my ear.

  “Yeh shoulda been nicer to me, Essie.”

  His weight pressing on my back…

  His ale-drenched breath spilling over me…

  A shout ripped through my throat, and I thrust my head back, banging it into his eye. His grip loosened, and I slipped free. I embraced the rage and went at him with a knee to the groin. His elbow slammed into my gut, knocking the wind from me. The next swing clipped the side of my head when I didn’t move quickly enough, and the world spun.

  Moray’s fist impacted my ribs, right on the bruise from the last fight. I gasped and staggered away, trying to stay clear. A whooping roar filled my ears. This was much better entertainment than the Thacker fight.

  “Yeh’ve got her, Moray!”

  “Yeah, show her what yeh’re made of!”

  “We’ll get our shares back from her now!”

  “Take that animal down, Essie!”

  Dane’s voice cut through the others. Calling attention to himself in that crowd was several sniffs from smart.

  “Found yerself a pet, I see,” Moray sneered. “Does he roll over when yeh tell him?”

  I never wasted time with words midfight. When Moray opened his mouth to continue taunting me, I punched him in the trachea. Not hard enough—only a glancing blow. He tried to counterattack, but I twisted him around into an armlock. A little more pressure and something cracked or popped. I danced with him as he tried to maneuver his free arm to grab me and kicked the side of his knee. He went down, and I pinned him.

  “Stay down, Moray,” I said, “because this is the nicest you’ll ever get from me.”

  Petey called the count and declared me the winner amidst the boos. I got out of the cage and crossed to the washroom quick as I could, but Dane still managed to trail after me.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “A little banged up is all.”

  “Bleeding is not ‘banged up.’”

  “What? Where am I bleeding this time?” I checked the mirror. A ribbon of blood trickled down my temple where Moray had clipped me. “That? I’m fine.”

  He stared at me, caught on something. “How often do you do these fights?”

  “Once or twice a week, mostly.”

  “That’s beyond madness. Look at you—you can’t even stand straight.”

  The compounded bruise on my ribs ached every time I breathed, so he had a point. His concern put me on edge, though. He didn’t know me. He had even less right than Petey to lecture me.

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” I said, pushing him back out of the washroom.

  He opened his mouth to continue his protests.

  I slammed the door in his face.

  By the time I patched myself up and calmed down, I realized leaving Dane among the miners hadn’t been too sharp. The lack of noise hit me as I left the washroom. The men who weren’t too drunk to stand had already stumbled home. Maybe I’d been in there longer than I realized.

  “How’s the take, Petey?” I asked, sliding onto a barstool.

  “Solid. Most were confident Moray would finish yeh, knowin’ how eager he was and that yeh had no rest from the last one. They’re none too happy with yeh right now.”

  “They’ll get over it.”

  “If yeh say so.” He worked the MineNet terminal and nodded. “That’s five-seventy-one over to yeh.”

  I ran the numbers in my head. That’d be enough to fix the shuttle without leaving me broke. “Good, I need to place an order.”

  He spun the terminal display to face me and watched as I 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 investment. 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.”

  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 encountered 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 fine. My assumption was confirmed 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 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 bedrock and—Dimwit, I said stop! If you weld your feet together, I’m not fixing 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 educational. 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 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.”