“Like that,” Jenks said. “I like that.” Ashby followed his gaze to a gun—no, not a gun. A small cannon with handles. The barrel looked big enough to hold an infant.
“We call that one the Sledge,” Bear said. “Packs a hell of a punch. And I highly doubt you need it.”
“Oh, but I do,” said Jenks. “I need it desperately.”
Bear laughed. “We can go shoot holes in the cliffs with it later if you like.”
Jenks looked at Kizzy. “We need to come here more often.”
As Kizzy and Jenks fawned over the ludicrous assortment of weaponry, Ashby and Sissix perused the shields. 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. He wanted to know how old the ship was, what it was built from, if the materials used in the living quarters differed from the original framework. He wanted to know the specific strain of algae they used for fuel, and how much ambi they kept on board at a time (Ashby cringed inwardly at the reminder of the stolen cells; the GC was covering the loss, but still, it was an awful waste). Nib asked Sissix careful questions about her piloting techniques, and nodded with sincere consideration as she answered. Bear joined the conversation after a time, and the brothers debated shield mechanics with enthusiasm. In the end, Bear and Nib decided they would take apart several existing models and combine the components into something specially suited to the Wayfarer. 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.
He turned around to see Jenks hand Rosemary a small energy pistol. The weapon looked out of place in her hands, like a fish being held by a desert-born Aandrisk. “See, not so scary when you’re the one holding it,” Jenks said. Rosemary didn’t look too sure.
Bear beamed. “Want to take it for a spin?”
Rosemary swallowed. “I don’t know how to shoot.”
“We can teach you,” Bear said. “Easy-peasy. You don’t need to know anything fancy.”
“And it’s fun,” said a voice behind them. Ember, covered in green slime, ketling head in hand, walked into the cargo hold and began digging through a pile of metal support poles. She clutched the ketling’s head by the antennae, holding it up to one pole at a time, trying to find a good width for skewering.
“Ember,” said Nib. “Please tell me that you did not leave a butchered ketling lying out in the sun.”
“Meat’s in the stasie,” she said.
Bear gave her a knowing look. “Please tell me that you did not leave a pile of guts lying out in the sun.”
Their little sister set down the pole she had in hand, flashed a guilty smile, and tiptoed in an exaggerated fashion back out of the cargo bay.
Bear rolled his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. “I cannot wait for her to stop being a teenager.”
“I can,” Nib said. “Do you know how impossible it’s going to be to boss her around when she’s twenty?”
“Question for you,” Sissix said. “Totally unrelated.”
“Go for it.”
“One of our rotational stabilizers was damaged when the Akaraks hit us. We were going to pick up a replacement on our next market stop, but I hate flying without it for that long. You guys don’t carry anything like that, right?”
“We don’t, but we’re hardly the only techs on this rock. You should to talk to Jess and Mikey,” said Bear.
“The same Mikey with the AI scam?”
“The same. But don’t hold that against him, those two really know their shit. Old-school ship techs. Retired now, but they still spend lots of time in their workshop. Awesome folks. They live about an hour from here. If you like, I can call down and see if they’re in. You could borrow a skiff, and be there and back by dinner time.”
Ashby looked to Sissix. She nodded. “Might as well, as long as we’re here,” he said. He turned back to the brothers. “You sure you don’t mind us using a skiff?”
“Nah, it’s no worries. If you guys can punch holes through space, I trust you to bring my skiff back in one piece.”
“Hey,” Ember yelled from outside. “Anyone want to see what a ketling nervous column looks like?”
“No,” yelled Bear.
“No, they do not,” yelled Nib.
“Yeah, kind of,” Jenks said. He dashed outside, dragging Kizzy with him.
Nib gave Ashby an apologetic shrug. “Sorry for the chaos,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Ashby said. Outside the cargo hold, Kizzy and Jenks were making disgusted, delighted sounds. “I’m kind of used to it.”
Rosemary had the sense that Ember knew a lot more about life than she did, but the girl had been wrong about one thing. The swarm didn’t wait a few days. An hour or so after Bear put the butchered, basted ketling over the fire, its kin erupted from the crags with a fury. The sky was darkened within minutes. At a distance, the twitching clouds of insects looked almost like clusters of malfunctioning pixels. The ketlings darted madly across the sky as they fertilized, killed, and sometimes ate one another. There had been a quick succession of bright flashes across the skyline as the people of Cricket activated the shields around their homes. The ketlings rammed headfirst into the shields, though they did not do so for any obvious reason. They did the same to rocks, plants, abandoned vehicles, even other ketlings. It seemed that the bugs disliked anything that infringed upon their ability to move in whichever direction they pleased.
Ashby and Sissix had still been at the other compound when the swarm hit. Rosemary had checked in with them via her scrib’s vidlink. None of them had any choice but to spend the night as unplanned houseguests. Neither of their hosts seemed to mind. On the contrary, it seemed that Jess and Mikey were only too happy to entertain some off-worlders. Ashby said that they had been pulling stashed delicacies out of cupboards left and right, and after Sissix had learned that the old couple spoke a little Reskitkish, they had become instant friends. Rosemary heard the women talking in the background over the vidlink—Sissix going slow, Jess pushing doggedly through the hissing syllables. From their laughter, Rosemary gathered that the conversation was a good one.
The modder siblings were similarly delighted. “There’s nothing you can do about a swarm,” Nib said. “It just means we get a day or two more with our friends.” The brothers were treating the miasma of biting, thrashing, spawn-vomiting insects as if it were a holiday. Ember and Kizzy lugged a case of homebrewed kick up from the cellar (like most things on Cricket, it had been made by a neighbor). Bear roasted Ember’s prey beneath the safety of the shield. It was an odd tableau: an apron-clad man brushing marinade onto a spit roast while slavering beasts bounced furiously off of the crackling bubble of energy above him. The bugs were undeterred by the piked ketling head, standing tall beside the entry gate.
At first, Rosemary had felt uncomfortable being stuck in the modders’ home, and not just for the swarm outside. Kizzy and Jenks were good friends with this family, but Rosemary was the odd one out. 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 flatbread and washed down with crisp kick, actually made for an enjoyable meal. By the time dinner was over, Rosemary found herself unexpectedly at ease. The armchair she sat in was dusty and worn. The pixel plant flickering nearby smacked of poor taste. The enthusiastic chatter about tech and modding was impossible for her to contribute to. But unfamiliar as everything was, it was clear that her companions felt right at home. Belly full and body laughing, Rosemary could pretend that she fit in there, too.