Chapter 36 - Contraptions and Conversations

  Things were moving quickly now.

  Darius had either underestimated the Freeholders’ resources or overestimated the cost of parts, because once the components started arriving, they simply didn’t stop. Every delivery brought crates of equipment in various states of readiness, and before long, his room had become uninhabitable.

  The shift to the living room wasn’t much better; the space was now a chaotic maze of half-unpacked boxes, mismatched tools, and parts stacked precariously on every available surface.

  A quick inventory of the latest shipment revealed the breadth of what he was working with; reinforced plasteel rods for structural integrity, modular joint assemblies scavenged from industrial bots, and a bundle of high-tensile fibre composites for load distribution. Nestled among the larger items were precision components—servo mounts, dynamic actuators, and the oddly delicate power couplings Echo insisted were critical to the design.

  He didn’t even want to consider how much all of this was costing – or how much attention the flurry of purchases and deliveries might be attracting. At this rate, assuming he didn’t make a break for it, he was going to be paying off his debt to the Freeholders for the rest of his life.

  It made him very nervous. An investment of this size just didn’t make sense. Either Echo was somehow expected to be far more valuable to the Freeholder’s cause than Darius could ever have imagined, or there was more going on here than Darius knew.

  It was probably a good thing he was too busy to stress about it right now.

  Lena had been pressed into service hours ago as a second set of hands to hold things. Despite her initial enthusiasm, the younger woman was clearly out of her depth when it came to the complexity of the frame they were building. Darius was hardly surprised – even with Echo in the back of his head explaining every step, he’d given up on trying to figure out what was going on minutes after they’d started.

  At the heart of the chaos was the partially assembled skeleton of Echo’s frame. Technically speaking, it only bore a superficial resemblance to an actual skeleton – Echo was calling it the ‘central structural support’ – but “skeleton” sounded catchier so Darius was stubbornly sticking to the word.

  The structure was taking shape on the central table, a lattice of alloy beams connected by intricate modular joints. The central support column, a sleek composite shaft salvaged from… somewhere – he didn’t know and didn’t care – served as the “spine.” Its integrated channels for power conduits and data lines were the core of the entire design, dictating where everything else had to fall into place.

  It was also the single most temperamental pieces of technology he’d ever had the misfortune to handle.

  Darius crouched next to the frame, wrestling a thick braided power conduit into the central support. The cable, resistant to flexing, fought him every step of the way, and the limited space between beams made threading it a frustratingly tedious task. He paused to catch his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

  The faint hum of the 3D printer filled the room, a steady backdrop to his work as it churned out yet another custom part. At first, he had found the constant hum almost comforting. It was always satisfying to see the printing arm spin and twist as it turned a slurry of material into useful parts.

  That had been at first.

  Now, hours later, and worn out from the constant fiddly tasks involved in building the skeleton, the noise was driving him to the brink of insanity. If only it weren’t so essential.

  Many of the components being delivered didn’t match – imperial surplus, salvaged parts, and off-the-shelf components weren’t meant to work together. To bridge the gaps, he relied on the printer to create adapters and reinforcement brackets, each one calibrated to the tolerances dictated by Echo’s schematics.

  The schematics themselves were another headache. Every component had to align perfectly to avoid stress fractures or buckling. That level of precision wasn’t something he was used to dealing with, and it showed. His usual method of “good enough to function” wouldn’t cut it here.

  Darius finally managed to shove the braided power conduit into place, grunting as it slid into the narrow channel with a satisfying click. He sat back on his heels, flexing his fingers and shaking out the stiffness in his hands. His knuckles ached from scraping against the alloy beams, and his patience was hanging by a thread.

  “Alright,” he announced, dragging himself to his feet and stretching until his spine popped. “I’ve had it. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, and all that nonsense. Break time.”

  Lena looked up from the corner of the table where she’d been quietly assembling yet another adapter, her face lighting up with a mix of relief and disbelief. “Seriously?” she asked, lowering the part she’d been painstakingly slotting together.

  “Seriously.” Darius wiped his hands on his shirt and gestured at the chaos surrounding them. “If I spend another minute trying to squeeze something into a space it doesn’t want to fit, I’m going to lose it.”

  Lena was so happy to be taking a break that she didn’t even point out the obvious innuendo. She pushed her chair back so fast it nearly tipped over, rising with a groan as she stretched her arms above her head. “Thank God. My hands feel like they’re about to fall off.”

  Darius was half-tempted to point out that she had the easy job, just putting together the 3D-printed parts as they finished. Fortunately for his health, his stunted social senses warned him in time. Something of his opinions must have crossed his face, because she narrowed her eyes dangerously at him for a moment before turning and speeding for her room.

  Clearly, she was worried he was going to change his mind about taking a break.

  Darius made his way to his own room, shoving the left-over parts and packaging onto the floor carelessly and collapsing onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling, arms splayed out on either side as he let out a long, slow exhale. The mattress beneath him was more lumpy than soft, and he could already feel the stray parts and packaging he’d shoved onto the floor nudging at the edge of his consciousness like tiny, accusing voices.

  He turned his head slightly, surveying the cluttered room with a faint grimace. Relaxation sounded great in theory, but in practice, he had no idea what to do with himself. He didn’t have a book to read, a movie queued up, or even a mindless task to occupy his hands. His augs were still patched together with second-hand software, which made gaming or net-browsing a chore.

  “I… really need a hobby,” he realised.

  {That would likely improve your mental state,} Echo’s voice cut in smoothly, filtering through his augs. {However, in the absence of such a pursuit, may I suggest contacting Finn? You seemed inclined to reach out earlier.}

  Darius frowned slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s the point? I was going to call him about getting parts, and we’ve got more than we know what to do with now. Not much else to talk about.”

  {I was under the impression that he was your friend,} Echo countered pointedly.

  Darius shifted uncomfortably. “I mean… yeah, he is. But we’re not exactly chatting friends, you know? More like… we’ll talk at work to pass the time, and we’ll hang out after work occasionally to get a drink, but… we’re not really close, you know?”

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  {Close enough for him to risk the Empire’s attentions to get you to safety,} Echo pointed out. {Not to mention volunteer to pay for the parts required to build me a frame once he learned that my presence was affecting your health.}

  Darius opened his mouth to argue – against what, he didn’t even know – but closed it a moment later. He’d be the first to admit he was a bit of a loner, but that didn’t mean he had anything against the idea of having friends. Just that his personality made it… difficult.

  “Yeah, alright,” he grumbled. “I’ll call him. Doubt he’s doing anything important anyway.”

  – – –

  Finn’s eyes twitched as his augs lit up with an incoming call. Now? Of all times, now Darius was calling? He never called!

  Across from him, Lieutenant Veris arched an eyebrow at him. “Do you need to take that?” she asked politely, no doubt well used to superior officers having to take important calls at random times.

  He had been… surprised, to say the least, when she had contacted him about his offer to have a drink. He’d only really made the offer out of habit and because it helped him slip under the radar a little. People like feeling liked, after all, and were generally prone to overlooking small inconsistencies from people with whom they got on well.

  Yet here he was, seated across from Lieutenant Veris in a dimly lit corner of the sort of bar that walked the line between trendy and unassuming. A faint hum of conversation buzzed around them, mingling with soft music that provided just enough cover for their voices without forcing them to shout. Veris, in civilian clothes, looked… different. The rigid air of command had softened; she seemed unsure of herself, her posture a touch stiff, her eyes flicking over the room as though expecting judgment to descend at any moment.

  “Well,” Finn said with an easy grin, lifting his glass in a half-toast. “Here’s to unexpected nights and, uh, breaking out of our comfort zones.”

  She mirrored the motion after a slight hesitation, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I suppose so. I just… I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”

  “Drinks after work? Surely even the Empire allows a little downtime,” Finn quipped, leaning back in his chair, relaxed but engaged. His posture said I’m paying attention, but his tone said no pressure.

  Her laugh was quiet but genuine. “Not like this. Not with…” She trailed off, clearly searching for the right words.

  “Not with someone who isn’t a starched uniform and an operations log glued to their hand?” Finn suggested, his grin widening. “I get it. You’re used to the high-stakes, stiff-collar crowd. Believe me, this is as casual as it gets.”

  Veris tilted her head slightly, considering him. “I don’t think you’re as casual as you pretend to be.”

  Finn raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink to buy a moment. “Well, you can’t blame a guy for hoping,” he deflected, making sure the humour landed with just enough sincerity to be disarming. “I didn’t expect to hear from you, to be honest – caught me off guard a little.” He winked. “Only in the best way, of course.”

  She flushed faintly and looked away, her fingers curling around the edge of her glass. “You’re good at this.”

  “Good at what?”

  “This. Putting people at ease.”

  Finn shrugged lightly. “When I was young, I decided that what I wanted out of life was to be happy. It’s pretty hard to be happy when everyone around you is miserable, so I figured I should learn how to make them happy so that I could be happy.” Mentally, he twitched. That was rather more serious than the mood he was going for. “So, really, it’s enlightened self-interest,” he joked to cover himself.

  His augs lit up again, distracting him from her response. ‘What the hell, Darius?’ he thought incredulously. This was probably the sixth or seventh time Darius had ever called him, and to do so twice in a row?

  He blinked back to the present to find Veris looking at him with an arched brow, fortunately looking more amused than annoyed.

  “Sorry,” he apologised preemptively. It was always a good idea to be seen as contrite whenever possible. “It kills me to not be paying my full attention to such a beautiful woman,” he flattered outrageously, “but this guy normally never calls, so I’m a little worried something might be wrong. Do you mind…?”

  “Be my guest,” Veris laughed politely, though Finn caught the slightest hint of red in her cheeks. Clearly unused to flattery, then. Good to know.

  Finn leaned back in his chair as he accepted the call, putting on his best neutral expression. “Yeah?” he answered smoothly, the tone casual enough to mask his rising tension. His eyes darted to Veris briefly, who was politely sipping her drink, though her attention clearly lingered on him.

  “Finally, he picks up! All that complaining about me never answering calls, and now you’re the one who—”

  Finn cut him off quickly, keeping his voice level but injecting a note of professionalism. “Uh, actually, I am kinda busy right now, so keep it quick. What’s up?” He tilted his head slightly as though listening to someone in another room, rather than through his augs. The polite way of indicating one was on a call.

  At least Darius didn’t sound like he was in trouble – but then why would he randomly call? A thought occurred to him, and Finn had to fight to keep the irritation from his face. If Darius was calling him drunk right now…

  There was a pause, then a suspiciously amused tone. “I know that voice. You’re busy, huh? Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

  Finn’s polite expression grew a little fixed. Not drunk, then. Drunk Darius was never this quick. Sober Darius usually wasn’t this quick either, unless it was to annoy him.

  “Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me that you wouldn’t know,” Finn shot back. Across from him, Veris ordered another drink – her third so far. Finn pretended not to notice, but privately he made a note of it. She hadn’t seemed the type, and while it was possible he’d misjudged, her mannerisms told him that this was unusual for her.

  “Oooh, so touchy!” Darius said, delighted to have gotten a reaction. Finn huffed, but despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched up. “Alright then, Casanova, I’ll let you get back to your ‘night out’. Give me a call when you have a minute to chat, though – some stuff has happened that you might need to know.”

  “Anything urgent?” Finn asked, suddenly more focused. Darius almost sounded serious there – which was a very bad sign.

  “Ehhh, maybe?” Darius hazarded, not filling him with confidence. “Probably only a little urgent, if you know what I mean.”

  He didn’t.

  “Anyway, like I said, give me a call later. Oh, and if you need a tutorial for later, there’s this neat website I’ve found that—”

  Finn took more pleasure than he’d like to admit in hanging up mid-sentence. Veris was still nursing her drink, her expression relaxed, though Finn caught her glancing his way from the corner of her eye.

  “Nothing too bad, I hope?” she asked lightly.

  “Nah, just a pain in my—” Finn coughed. “Well, nothing that could drag me away from you,” he recovered.

  Veris laughed delightedly, and Finn’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Clearly, she didn’t know how to handle her drink very well.

  “So,” he said casually, swirling his glass and leaning back slightly. “If you don’t mind my asking, what did make you accept my invitation? Just so I know what to do the next time I invite you out, of course. You, uh, don’t seem like someone who takes too many nights off.”

  Veris hesitated, her fingers tapping lightly against her glass. “It’s… been a long week,” she finally admitted. “Just… needed to get away from it all, even if only for a night.”

  “Hey, I get that,” Finn assured, “Just work being work, or something more than that?”

  “Just… work,” she said, clamming up a little. “You know how it is.”

  Finn gave a sympathetic chuckle, dialling it back a little. “Oh, I know how it is. Someone’s always got an impossible demand, there’s always a fire to put out, and if you somehow get through the day in one piece, they just expect you to do it all again tomorrow.”

  Her lips quirked, and she took another sip of her drink. “That’s pretty accurate.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think it’s just the usual grind that’s got you out here, though,” Finn said, his voice calm and open, an invitation rather than a prod. “Seems like there’s more on your mind.”

  She glanced at him, the faintest hint of wariness flickering across her face before she relaxed. “I guess you could say that,” she admitted, her tone vague. “Some things are just… frustrating, you know?”

  Finn nodded knowingly. “I get it. It’s hard when you feel like things could be handled better, but you don’t always get a say.”

  Veris gave a quiet hum of agreement, her eyes on her drink. “Exactly. And sometimes, it’s not even that you want to change everything. Just… make people see that there are other ways to approach things. That maybe not everything has to be so… rigid.”

  Finn raised his glass again, masking the sharp interest that sparked at her words. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

  She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “More than usual, yeah. I thought… maybe I could use a break. Clear my head.”

  He leaned forward slightly, keeping his movements measured. “Makes sense. Sometimes you’ve got to step back to see things clearly.”

  Her gaze lifted to his, and for a moment, she looked almost grateful. “Yeah. Exactly.” She took another sip of her drink, her expression softening slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m overthinking things.”

  “Well, in my totally unbiased opinion, I think you’re pretty smart. If you’re noticing something, there’s probably something there,” Finn said with a crooked smile before shifting it to something lighter. “After all, you were smart enough to hang out with me – and I’m the best listener I know!”

  Veris huffed a laugh. “And so modest, too,” she teased, seeming to come to a decision. “Well, if you’re going to be listening, the least I can do is buy the next round.”

  “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Finn winked.

  As Veris rose from her seat and swayed her way over to the bar, he leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his drink thoughtfully. It could be nothing, but his instincts were urging him that there was an opportunity here. He could be reading things wrong, but it almost sounded like the good Lieutenant was having doubts.

  His lips curled into a smile, the first genuine one of the night.

  Thank goodness he was here to provide an outside perspective, then.