Chapter 3: Small Repairs

Asher’s room above the repair shop was barely large enough for his cot, let alone an android. Steam pipes running along the ceiling filled the space with constant metallic pings and whispers, while the floorboards creaked with every step. Still, it was private. Safe.

“Is this where you play?” Seven sat cross-legged on the floor, examining a shelf of salvaged parts with curious eyes. “The children’s ward had more colors. And pictures on the walls. Sarah used to draw suns, even when it was raining.”

“It’s not for playing.” Asher paced the narrow space between his cot and the door. “And remember what we talked about? You need to stay quiet. If Garrett hears—”

A massive clang echoed from the workshop below, followed by cursing. Seven’s head tilted toward the sound. “Someone’s upset. When the little ones were upset, we would—”

“No.” Asher cut him off. “No songs, no stories, no helping. Not yet. Just… stay here. Please? I have to work.”

More crashes from below. Garrett’s voice carried through the floorboards: “Asher! Get down here and hold this steady!”

Seven’s eyes followed Asher to the door. “But you’re upset too. And tired. Your shoulders are tight, like when the nurses worked too many shifts.”

Asher paused, hand on the doorknob. The android wasn’t wrong. Every muscle ached from the trek back through the wastes, and his mind felt fuzzy from lack of sleep. But there wasn’t time to rest. Not with a secret like Seven to protect.

“Just stay quiet,” he repeated. “I’ll be back soon.”

The workshop was chaos. A massive drilling rig dominated the center of the room, its pneumatic system scattered in pieces across three workbenches. Garrett knelt beside the main housing, his face smeared with grease.

“Hold this valve steady,” he commanded without looking up. “And try not to break anything.”

Asher gripped the valve, feeling the familiar burn of shame.

“Did you hear about the caravan?” Garrett’s voice was casual, but his hands stopped working. “Militia found it this morning. Five dead. Baldagaar attack, they said.

Asher’s grip on the valve tightened. “I wouldn’t know anything about—”

A crash from upstairs cut him off. Something had fallen in his room. Something that might, at any moment, start singing to make things better.

Garrett’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“Pipes,” Asher said quickly. “They’ve been knocking all morning. I should check—”

“The pipes can wait. This rig needs to be working by sundown.” Garrett turned back to the pneumatics. “Though speaking of pipes, I need you to check the basement fittings later. Been hearing strange sounds down there too.”

Relief flooded through Asher as his mentor’s attention returned to work. Just had to get through the day. Figure out what to do with Seven. Keep everything quiet and normal and—

“Hello!” Seven ‘s cheerful voice came from the top of the stairs. “Is this where you fix things that are hurting?”

Asher’s heart stopped. Garrett went very still.

“Because,” Seven continued, descending with careful steps, “I’m very good at helping fix things that hurt. Though usually they’re smaller. And have more bones.”

Garrett stood slowly, taking in the brass and copper figure with widening eyes. “Asher,” he said very quietly, “what did you do?”

“I can explain,” Asher started, but Seven was already moving through the workshop, examining tools and parts with childlike fascination.

Seven picked up a pressure gauge, turning it in brass fingers. “Is this for grown-up patients?”

“Put that down,” Garrett commanded, his voice tight. He turned to Asher. “Do you have any idea what you’ve brought into my shop? Into my home?”

“It’s not dangerous,” Asher said quickly. “It’s a medical assistant. For children. It just wants to—”

“Your pneumatic coupling is misaligned,” Seven interrupted, peering at the drilling rig. “That’s why the pressure keeps building wrong. Like when Tommy’s IV would get kinked.” The android traced a finger along the machinery. “See? The flow is all twisted. No wonder it hurts.”

Garrett’s face reddened. “Now listen here, you brass abomination—”

But Seven was already moving, hands flying over the pneumatic system with surprising precision. “Just a small adjustment. Like fixing a crooked bandage. There!”

The drilling rig’s pressure gauge, which had been flickering erratically, suddenly stabilized. The whole system hummed with a smooth, healthy sound they hadn’t heard from it in weeks.

Garrett’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“It’s okay to be surprised,” Seven said kindly. “The nurses always were too, when I helped. But fixing things that hurt is important, even if they’re not people.” The android turned to Asher. “Did I do good? Was this the right kind of helping?”

Asher looked desperately between Seven’s hopeful expression and Garrett’s thunderous one. “I… that is…”

“Out,” Garrett said suddenly. “Both of you. Out of the shop. Now.”

“But—”

“NOW.”

Asher grabbed Seven’s hand and pulled him toward the back door. Behind them, he could hear Garrett moving around the workshop, checking gauges, testing pressures.

They ended up in the narrow alley behind the shop. The morning sun cast their shadows long against the weathered walls. Seven was humming softly, apparently unbothered by their ejection.

“I’ve ruined everything,” Asher groaned, sliding down to sit in the dirt. “He’ll throw me out. Report you to the militia. They’ll take you apart to see how you work, or sell you to the highest bidder, or—”

The back door crashed open. Garrett stood there, wiping his hands on a rag. His expression was unreadable.

“Boy,” he said after a long moment. “Get back in here. Bring your… friend.”