“No, but see, that’s why it’s so fun! It’s like a puzzle, figuring out what kind of circuits the old ones will talk to, adding new bits to make things more homey, staying on top of all the old framework’s secrets so we don’t blow up.”

This paper has far too little space for me to write everything I want to say, so know this: I love you, and I think of you always.

“And I don’t want to leave. But I won’t be on the Wayfarer forever anyway. Someday, when the time’s right, I’ll go do other things. If that time gets chosen for me, well… okay.”

Ashby started to wonder why the settlers had bothered rebuilding at all, but he already knew the answer. To some Humans, the promise of a patch of land was worth any effort. It was an oddly predictable sort of behavior. Humans had a long, storied history of forcing their way into places where they didn’t belong.

“It’s our hobby,” Bear said. “We only sell them to neighbors and trusted friends. We’re not in the business of equipping bad guys. But if you want to discourage bad guys, oh yeah, we can do that.”

“We have different philosophies, you and I, but I can understand where you’re coming from. Violence is always disconcerting, even if it’s only potential violence. But after the trouble you recently found yourself in– not to mention the place you’re headed to– it sounds as if you could do with some basic tools of self-defense. If that only constitutes shielding for you, that’s okay. But you need something.”

All misgivings that Ashby had about buying modder equipment vanished as Nib spoke to them about his tech. Nib already had the Wayfarer’s specs on hand, but he wanted to know more than just engine readouts and hull dimensions. He wanted details.

Ashby felt as though he were buying a tailored set of clothes. These modders were no mere techs. They were artists. And for all they were offering, they required only a day’s work and a sum of credits that Ashby suspected covered little more than the components themselves.

Ashby made a mental note to thank Kizzy for being friends with these people.

The thought of imposing on these strangers for a day or two– eating their food, sleeping on a grubby couch, listening to inside jokes– left Rosemary awkward. But the siblings’ congeniality did away with those feelings. Bear in particular made an effort to include her, and attempted to fill her in when the stories started going over her head (most of the stories fell into one of two groups: “the time we built this amazing thing” or “the time we smoked too much smash and did something stupid”). Once she had gotten past the memory of the oozing ketling carcass, she found the shreds of spicy, flame licked insect, wrapped in airy flat-bread and washed down with crisp kick, actually made for an enjoyable meal. By the time dinner was over, Rosemary found herself unexpectedly at ease.