Challenge #00247: Craftsmanship

Ordinary excellence.

“If you want it to last long, hire an expert. If you want it to last for long enough, hire a JOAT.” – Galactic saying.

Rael got most of his income from people who wanted their patches to last long enough. As in, long enough to make a profit out of this trip. Or, long enough to get me back home. And, in some cases, long enough so I can trade this heap in for maximum due.

He reported those ones.

They were attempting fraud, after all. And besides, the stipend he got from Station Security was far more generous than any tip that fell from the fraudster’s fingers.

Crime did pay - the informants.

Nevertheless, Rael did his best to make certain the patches he put into various vessels lasted for much longer than they were expected to do. This was the way he built a reputation. This was the way he kept food in his almost-perpetually-empty stomach-analogue.

And, lately, it was where he was gaining an audience.

Rael stepped back from his work on a dodgy engine - more patch jobs than original parts - trying to gain a new perspective on the problem… and almost tripped over a pair of white boots.

“Sorry…”

“I can’t take a break, yet, Shayde. I have real work to do.”

“Aye, and I was identifyin’ soap operas all day. Sortin’ em. Workin’ out which ones were which. Which is never fun. So I’m takin’ a break and watchin’ an artist at work.”

Ugh. Why did she keep coming back? He made it abundantly clear that he hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do with her or how to enjoy anything of himself… Yet she kept turning up. Eating at the same restaurants. Shopping at the same places. Inviting him to events. Forcing him to socialize.

And baking him things.

He spared a glance away from his work. He was safe, for now. The ritual tin box was nowhere in sight. There was, however, a deck chair and a beverage with a small paper umbrella in it. And Shayde lounging there.

She smiled a special smile for him. He tried to quell the rising warmth inside that had nothing to do with ambient temperature or how much he had to eat.

Stop it. That degree of companionship is impossible. And if I try, I’ll only make a mess of things, he told himself. Back to work.

Work mattered. It was truth. When something was done properly, it was done properly. And it would work, and work well. That, and it paid his food bills.

There was nothing else to fix. Or at least, nothing else he could fix in the allotted time window, which had nearly expired. He put his tools away with regret. The pilot/owner was going to have to replace the entire manifold as early as possible. The fact that they had ignored this advice for three patches so far was not a good sign.

Nevertheless, he noted it in the engineering logs and signed off on the time stamp.

Shayde applauded. “Well done, there. Na. I found a place that does some real beignets the old-fashioned way. And a whole lot o’ soul food besides. You in?”

“Beignets?”

“They’re like a deep-fried pancake. Served wi’ mountain of powdered sugar.”

Short-term calories with a side of long-term fats and carbs. Sounded, as Shayde would put it, right up his alley. “I’ll have you know I can afford to ‘go dutch’.”

“Do ye want to?” Somehow, she’d folded up the usually carnivorous deckchair and made it vanish.

Sigh. “Yes.”

A grin. “See? I have ways of gettin’ a 'yes’ out of you.”

Humans…

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