“Maybe four or five,” I replied with the poker face I reserved for negotiations, but it was clear that Frog wouldn’t be a total loss in my kind of business. “Fine, we can barter. But if you can do that, what is it you think I can do for you?”
“We could fix any simple damage with our nanomotiles, but we cannot quickly regenerate material which is utterly gone. I regret to say that the aeroshroud, which protects the propellant tank of our landing craft and stabilizes the mechanical interface with the life support module under max Q conditions, was impulsively detached in the jet ski collision and lies somewhere in the aqueous sediment of Steamboat Bay. The boat activity in that area made any recovery effort most impractical. I fear we shall have to ask you to fabricate a new one.”
I nodded slowly as if I’d understood all this. A shroud was likely a thin shell of something, and I’d guess it was lost in the bottom muck. “I’ve got some sheet steel.”
“Too massive for its strength, we fear. What is required is a ten-mil hydrogenated diamond aluminum laminar sheet.”
I should have guessed something like that. I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe you need to go somewhere they can pronounce whateveritwas you said.”
“We’ve taken the liberty of accessing your supply net.”
I looked sharply at Frog. How the hell had he done that? Then again, how the hell did he do anything he did? Seven million years, he’d said.
“The nearest vendor,” Frog continued, “is Olsen’s Roofing in Brainerd. The Japanese are exporting it as a substitute for corrugated iron. It is three times as dear, but lasts indefinitely.”
I knew Thor Olsen; he liked to open early, seven thirty as I remembered, and he’d give me wholesale if I picked up enough to cover the boat shed as well. Pricey, but it would likely be the last time I’d have to do it. At fifty-five, I was beginning to feel that my roof-climbing days might not last through another set of tin. Brainerd was anywhere from a thirty to fifty minute round trip down 371, depending on how many tourists were in town. I guessed I could go after breakfast tomorrow and be back in time to open. I nodded to Frog.
“A four-foot, three point five six two-inch diameter circle would do nicely. I’ll cut a twenty-seven point eight three-inch circle in the center and a point seven two eight nine three radian wedge, then we bend it into a cone. I or one of the other motiles can nano-meld the seam after installation.”
I nodded again. “That might be a good idea: your doing it. My, uh, nano-melding is a little rusty.”
“We can count on your assistance, then?”
I shook my head. “Whatever. I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning.” I wasn’t contemplating leaving the shop on the Fourth. All sorts of emergency repairs turn up, and at doubletime holiday labor rates, it was one of my bigger days.
“Grandpa!” Ellie shouted, “someone’s outside and they broke their outboard and they need it fixed right away.”
See? All I had to do was think the thought. “Be right back,” I told Frog and walked out to the front office.
It turned out to be a couple of young ladies, both about medium height and build, one a short-haired full-figured blonde and the other more lithe and boyish, with long black hair falling free to her tight rear end. She looked familiar, sort of. They were barefoot, wearing utilitarian walking shorts and barely legal net swim halters that showed lots of tan. We don’t see a whole lot of that in Nisswa and Ellie was staring, about as wide eyed as I probably was. They didn’t seem to mind, or even notice. A Winnebago trailing a twenty-foot outboard runabout with a cabin was parked in front.
“I’m Kim, she’s Kate,” the blonde said, so businesslike it almost pulled my mind off her chest. “We got a Johnson fifty-five that won’t start and we’ve got to get down to Bar Harbor. Business.”
I wasn’t about to ask what business, but suspected I’d make some people happy if I could get them on their way. They seemed sane enough, and my libertarian instincts weren’t displeased.
“We’ll pay cash,” Kim added.
Kate looked me up and down with the kind of smile a kid has when she’s got a surprise she just can’t quite hold in. My hair’s still all there, though it’s been white since my early thirties. My skin’s not too loose and I don’t have much fat on me, courtesy of the annual Nisswa County senior ten-K and my winter season cross country business. The wart next to my nose was removed last winter, so, for fifty-five, I probably passed muster, if that’s what she was thinking.
“Or barter,” Kate said in a very quiet sincere voice, staring into my eyes in a way that promised more than simple fun.
It was a strange thought that something like that might actually happen to me now, even as part of a transaction. I’d met Terri Ann my first day at Bemidji State, and while we’d both had special friends and experimented with life styles a bit in those loose and heady days, we’d settled down by the mid-seventies, and there’d been no one else for me for thirty years. God, I missed her and there was something about this girl that brought it all back, instantly.
“Whatever. I’m Karl.” My real name was Anthony, courtesy of my mother. It didn’t stick past first grade, but I remember every time I introduce myself. “Battery OK?”
“Full charge, cranks fine,” Kim replied. “Engine pops, smokes, won’t catch. Bad symptoms.”
“The smoke was black,” Kate added, “and the plug fouled. It’s my uncle’s boat, and we have to get it back by the weekend. Don’t you remember me, Grandpa?”
Kathy Alquist! The name came suddenly and with it the face of the tomboy that used to babysit Ellie maybe five years ago. No relation, but Grandpa was what everyone had called me in that family, and she’d been pretty much part of it for three or four summers. Damned if she hadn’t been a bit of a flirt back then, if I remembered. My mouth must have gaped like a walleye in a stagnant pond, the way she giggled. “So it’s Kate now? You’ve grown up a bit; your face looks like your mother’s.”
Kim groaned. A hint of a frown passed over the subject’s face, to be replaced by a determined grin.
“So they say. Just a summer job, Grandpa. Kim, he’s a good guy. We can trust him.”
Oh? Exactly what was I supposed to say to Kate’s family if and when it got out what she was doing, and it got out that I knew what she was doing and didn’t tell anyone that she was doing it?
Well, she was too pretty not to smile at. “Kathy, er Kate, it lays a bit of a burden on a person when you say flat out that you can trust him like that without asking permission. But your business is your business. We’ll get your motor fixed, don’t you worry about that.”
Kim looked relieved and tossed her head toward the stern of the boat.
I nodded. “Let’s take a look now. Ellie, could you roll the hoist out?” Pushing that big thing around made her feel important. She scampered off.
We had the engine disconnected and off the runabout in ten minutes, and soon on my test stand on the side of a big oval cow-watering trough. I hooked up my DC and hit the starter button. It popped, smoked, and didn’t catch. I took the cowling off, pulled a plug, stuck in the gauge, and cranked. Hardly moved the needle.
“What’s the diagnosis?” Kim asked, frowning.
“She’s premed,” Kate interjected with a smile.
Probably thought she was invulnerable to disease. But I nodded sympathetically. Our state rep had voted to increase tuition again, and I was beginning to feel guilty about voting for her. “It could be better,” I drawled. “Rings, or maybe a crack in the block. Happen all of a sudden?”
“Kinda,” Kate sighed. “Wouldn’t plane coming back in last night, though with six people on board I thought maybe it was just out of adjustment.”