Scarlet Steel

“Do you ever wonder why we do this?”

“Where the hell else would you want to work?”

“I don’t know, maybe somewhere we don’t get shot at every few days?”

“Kid, if you’re talking like that, you’re not cut out to be a pilot.” - A conversation overheard at a bar.

Dad and Exa make sure to stop in whenever they can over the next five years, but more often than not, I go months without seeing them.

My days are busy, split between school, re-reading Exa’s engineering books over and over, and working on Hoppy. The work is slow, to say the least. Building the skillset to even begin working on the thing in any real capacity takes years.

To make things worse, despite how awful shape Hoppy is in, it turns out she’s in better shape than most. That’s not saying a lot though. In five years I have about half of it rebuilt. Well, probably rebuilt. I can only do so much testing without being able to pull a perfect vacuum, and I haven’t even heard about anyone finding an antimatter cell, and I’ve already checked every wreck visible from the air within twenty miles.

I guess I shouldn’t be too upset. The drone has made all of this possible. I’ve even gotten comfortable sleeping out in the junkyard overnight. Trying to wrestle some of these parts back to my workshop is just awful.

My radio beeps as a ship drops into orbit. Turns out that engineers have a dedicated frequency that I stumbled across a few years ago. I set aside my laptop, throw on my headset, and lean back in my bed.

“This is Crimson Shadow. Any spacies looking to chat?” I broadcast.

“Crimson Shadow?” A man responds. “I didn’t expect to hear another ship here of all places. I don’t see anything on radar, you hiding on the moon or something?”

“I’m a mech engineer planetside.”

“A mechie on a junkyard planet? What, you couldn’t afford repairs and had to go slumming?”

“No I’m… I’m local. I’ve spent the last few years trying to rebuild a totalled Hopper and get off-planet. Problem is, I’m self taught. I’m looking to trade textbooks, manuals, blueprints, advice, whatever you’ve got. I’ve amassed a collection of media over the years. Whatever you want, I’ve probably got it.”

“Send up your list.”

“Sending.” I grab my laptop, plug it into my radio, and broadcast a premade list of everything I have on offer. A few moments later I receive a list in response.

I run a small program that Numbers left behind a few years ago. Both lists are instantly cross checked, and duplicates discarded. A few entries stick out to me immediately.

“What would it take to get you to send over Effects of Antimatter Obliteration on Magnetic Fields?”

“How old are you?” He asks.

“Old enough to know I need to know more before I do any testing with an antimatter cell.”

“Send over the first three seasons of Zenith Rising and we’ll call it even.”

“Three seasons is worth more than one book. Can you toss in Physical Properties of 24th Century Materials?”

“Yeah, sure, why not.”

He sends over the books first, and the moment I receive them, I begin uploading his show.

“While I have you here, do you have any advice on how to pull a vacuum in an engine without any specialized materials? I’ve modified an accordion to work similarly to a set of reverse bellows. I can pull a lot of air out of it, but not everything.”

“You’re going to need either specialized equipment, or a fuckton of antimatter to obliterate everything inside the engine.”

“I live in a junkyard. Neither of those are an option.”

“Then you’re screwed. What you need to get your hands on is a chiral mesh. Put a fuckton of electricity through that thing and it’ll only let air through in one direction. Keep that powered for a few hours and you’ve got yourself a perfect vacuum. If a starship ever drops on your house, take apart the airlock, you’ll find some there.”

“Can I make one myself?”

“Do you have a nanoforge?”

“I have a laser cutter.”

“Then no.”

“Yeah I thought so. I’ll figure-” A knock on the front door interrupts me. “Sorry, someone’s here. Crimson Shadow out.”

I toss off my headset, leaving my laptop to finish the upload, and head to the door. I pause just as I reach it, hearing whispers, but unable to make out the words.

Is that Aunt Juno? Why would she be here without Dad and Exa?

I put my ear to the door and listen.

“Let’s go sit down.” Juno says.

“Just…” Mom takes a shaky, shuddering breath. “Just tell me what happened.”

My stomach drops. No no no no.

“He sacrificed himself to save everyone. Exa and I couldn’t stop him from staying behind. He ripped out her holo and tossed it to me before turning back alone.”

“Of course he did.” Mom stays silent for a few seconds. “What happened to Exa? Why isn’t she here?”

“She’s turned herself off. And she says she wants to stay that way.”

“Did you recover anything?”

“There wasn’t time.”

“Then he might still be alive, right?” A small bit of hope makes its way into Mom’s voice.

“His cell went up. I’m sorry.”

“Right.” Silence weighs heavily in the air. “You promised you’d keep him safe. Exa promised the same.”

“Exa wanted to die with him. Tried to die with him. I had to get civilians out. Elara had the launch codes, and jammers were preventing data transfer.”

“You could have stayed then.”

“Elara is embedded within me.” Juno says. “If I could have taken his place, I would have. We’ll help support your family though. It’s the least we can do.”

“Right.” Mom takes another deep, shuddering breath. “You can go. I’ll figure out how to break the news to Scarlet.”

“Alright. You know how to contact me. Just tell me if you need anything.” The front door opens and closes.

Mom hits the table and begins to cry.

“God.” I breathe. “I… I need to do something.” I grab my backpack, only to find my hands are numb. I toss it out the window, climb out, and begin to hike.

What do I need to work on when I get there? The suspension field tube. I’ll install that.

I keep my mind on only Hoppy as I walk. It’s either that, or I let it wander. I can’t do that.

It’s not long before I arrive, slam my backpack onto a table and step in front of the engine compartment. How do I adapt a Switchblade’s suspension field to my Hopper? I’ll just cut it. What’s the worst that can happen?

I grab my laptop and check the blueprints on this part. It should be fine. All the important electronics are in the middle third, and any wires or sensors I cut off can just be rewired and skipped.

I turn the voltage on my battery up, plug in my laser cutter, and set it to a slow, straight cut.

“Be careful.” I remind myself. Measure twice. More than twice. Make sure everything is perfect, I don’t want to have to find another one of these things.

I pull on a gas mask, flip the switch, and let it work.

Dad would-

I need to get the wiring ready. It’s a different manufacturer. The wiring and protocols are going to be entirely different, incompatible. Exa can-

Derrick knows this kind of thing. He can help convert the signals into something my computer can understand. That’s fine, it’s not a problem. Just get the wiring harness ready.

I pull up the schematics for both bundles of wires and begin splicing. I just need to make sure nothing gets overloaded, everything else can be fixed in software.

“Scarlet?” Mom’s voice makes me jump. “I assume you overheard?”

“I need to work.”

“Your dad, he-”

“He’s dead. I know what pilots do, I’m not a kid.”

“No, I suppose you’re not anymore.” Mom takes a seat on a small crate. “Watch your voltage.”

“What?” I turn my head and ask.

“Old Earth Designs uses a higher voltage than Damascus Engineering. You’re going to need resistors on the power lines.”

I turn around and stare at her for just a moment.

“You’re not going to sit here and tell me not to stop working on this?”

“No. You’re too similar to your dad.”

I can barely force a small noise out of my mouth in response. I rush back to the wires. Focus on them. What was mom talking about? Voltage? Right. I grab my laptop and check the specs.

I can barely read. Everything’s blurry. Just do it! Just read! It’s slow, but I manage.

She’s right. I would have noticed that if- I should have noticed it. It’s an easy fix, but missing it would have been catastrophic.

I try my best to work, only to find my hands shaking far too much to work with such delicate wires.

“What did you mean by that?” I ask.

“I spent so long trying to talk your dad out of what he was doing. Years. I knew it’d end up this way. He knew it’d end up this way. What do you think you’re going to do when you get that thing working?”

“I don’t know.” I respond quietly.

“Where do you think your dad went when we fought? When people in his squad died? Same place as you. He wasn’t a mechie though. I had to undo half of his grief work.”

“You worked on mechs?” I ask.

“What, did you think I learned everything working here or reading you to sleep with textbooks? Yeah, I cut my teeth on mechs, that’s where I met your dad, actually. Knew from day one how it’d end.”

“What do you mean?” I put down my collection of wires.

“Pilots are wired up all wrong. Every single one of them. They don’t retire, they don’t quit. They either die in a cockpit, or get so screwed up they can’t physically climb back in there. I’ve watched you long enough to see you’d end up the same way. If I’m wrong, and I hope with everything I have that I’m wrong, you’ll end up coming home. If I’m right though? Nothing I can do or say would prevent you from working on your little Hopper. I could blow her up and you’d just buckle down and put the pieces back together. It’s my fault for falling in love with a pilot.”

I stumble forward and fall into her arms.

“I’m not going to die!” I cry.

“But you’re not going to stop working on the mech.” She clutches me tight.

I don’t respond.

“It’s ok.” She rests her head on top of mine and lets tears pool in my hair. “I can’t say I understand, but you’ve got the worst of it. Pilot and mechie blood is an unfair combination. You were destined to be attracted to these things. I just have to hope you take after me and stay in the shop.”

“I’m sorry.” I cry into her arms.

“It’s ok.” Her hand begins to run through my hair. “It’s ok.”

The two of us cry together, sharing our grief. I don’t know how long we sit there, but I eventually run out of tears to cry, my sadness replaced with only numbness.

“We should get to sleep.” Mom says. “You can skip school tomorrow, but rest will help.”

I extract myself from her arms and wipe my face on my clothes.

"I don’t think I can sleep.” I say and glance back at Hoppy.

“Let’s get that tube mounted then.” Mom stands up, dries her face, and steps over to the laser cutter. “Have you checked how cutting this thing affects the magnetic field?”

“As far as I know it’s fine. Both the Switchblade and Dagger mechs use the same tube, just cut down to size. A spacie told me he used one of these things to repair a starship engine once, and while it introduced some stutter, it worked.”

“Working’s good enough.” Mom grabs the cut tube off the table, and I remove the cap covering the hole it slides into.

The two of us maneuver it into place, and mom holds it while I get both sides clamped in. The locking mechanism is entirely custom made, and I really hope it works. I should have done a test fit before doing a proper install. It’s fine though, it’s in place, and there’s just one test to do.

I grab my modified accordion, connect the tube sticking out of it to a small port on the underside of the engine, and try my best to pump out all the air.

I pump and pump, and it never gets any harder.

“No. No!” I pump harder, desperate to pull even a slight vacuum. “It was working!”

“Let’s sleep on it then, ok?” Mom asks. “It’s probably something simple that went wrong. You’ll realize what it is when you stop thinking about it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

I ignore her and check my braces. They look fine visually. If there’s a small gap I can’t see, I’d expect to at least be able to reduce the pressure inside! But it just feels like I’m pumping the accordion without it being hooked up to anything!

Maybe I can test. I grab a roll of tape and start to cover up the connections when it hits me.

“I don’t have the end going into the cell holder capped off.” I drop my roll of tape. “Yeah. Maybe I should sleep.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Mom grabs my toolbag, places a hand on my shoulder, and guides me back home.

The walk is a blur, and the next thing I know I’m being tucked into bed like I’m seven again.

“Good night Scarlet. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”