luci2also
Science fiction fantasy
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2012
- Messages
- 45
I had to tighten this to get it to fit the rules. It still works for me. I need to know if it works for anyone else.
###
Outside it's hot.
The morning sun nearly blinds, reflecting off the residue of dew left from the evening. The sky is its usual blue-red, a pinkish cast across the lesser moon that looms ever large in the sky.
The sun doesn't always scorch, but it tries. The humidity is what will kill you. New Terra has little ground water. That big star keeps burning it off and tossing it back into the air around us.
I wipe my forehead with the thin sleeve of my chenille overcoat. Its iridescence, in this light, draws the casual observer’s eyes away from an affectation of my skin. Even with its light fabric, a drip of sweat travels down the declivity, tickling my breasts. Underneath I’m scantly clad with short shorts and my favorite sports bra. The overcoat is plenty of coverage, reaching half way down my thigh. It hangs open, but, there's no one here to see.
The sun has been up almost an hour and it’s already this hot. I could go back inside, but it’s worse in there.
The ants are already dancing on the clots of fractured clay around the air conditioner. Seeming unperturbed by its spurious attempts to restart, they have dissipated considerably since shutting it down.
I finish bleeding the system. Something foreign, in the lines, is gumming it up. It could be one of these ants or a whole colony. The seals on this thing are worn enough to invite intrusion.
Removing the canister and filter rig, I give the system a good blow. I hear it sputtering across something. The way I've had to patch things, sealant might have intruded. I daren't pull all the lines apart until John agrees to invest in new parts. As I worry over this the chunk works lose, the air sings to me.
I clean my sloppy work, do a visual. I shake my head. Make the sign of the cross and say a few Hail Marys. That could be sacrilegious, because I ain't religious. It all looks as good as it can be. I have to recharge the system. I cap it while the air is still running through the lines.
It's a bust. And I mean a real bust. The leak is so evident I can see the few remaining ants being blown hither and yon. Normally I'd give the wrench a good toss. I've not been using the wrench for fear of making things worse.
The back door opens fortuitously and Jack's head is sticking out. He squints under the sun. He says, “Angie, how we doing out here?”
Stepping back I say, “Hot, sticky. This damn stuff is worn beyond its warranty period by almost a decade. Could use some better sealant. A few new parts.”
Jack steps out. His slight rotund midsection makes it difficult for him to stand on the stoop and shut the door. He does a half dance as he makes a hasty retreat. Grunting he disappears, the door closes. I'm thinking he couldn't stand the heat. His head comes out again, this time he lands in the sand. The door slams itself. Sheepishly he offers me a bag. He also offers a glass of amber liquid.
I wave a hand and say, “Thanks. You know I don't drink that stuff.”
I’m clutching my chenille together in front. I’d have to let go to grab both. I turn my back towards him as I take the sack.
Jack waves his hand pointing at the glass and says, “It's tea, with sugar, the way you like it.”
Setting the bag down, I take the tea from his huge fist. Inside the bag is everything I need to do this job proper. I give Jack a well deserved harsh look. I say, “Great, make me do this twice.”
Checking the ground for ants, I stomp a bit. Then I sit. The ground feels cool. I sip the tea slowly.
Jack shrugs, wiping his fingers on the towel draped over his shoulder. He says, “Yeah, Sorry I'm bad. I know. But, I listen and I picked this up a week ago. Figured it was due to quit soon.”
Sitting with my short shorts pressed against the clay, my knees pushed up towards my chin and my hiking boots touching where my bare thighs meet the hem on the shorts, I'm a bit contorted reaching for the bag. I pour the parts in my lap. Flattening the bag on the ground I lay the parts out there. Suppressing a grimace I look at Jack and exclaim, “Wow. Shiny!”
With wrench in hand I begin removing parts of the line. Jack steps into the little shadow offered by the structure of the bar. He shades his eyes looking across the desolation toward the line of trees that mark the lower edge of the mountains.
I look into the sky with its sparse clouds. The clouds sink down at night covering the ground like a cottony blanket. The sun comes up to burn these away in short order. Moisture hangs in the air for the better part of the first two hours, before clouds start to reform.
Jack follows my gaze, he says, “If this takes too long I can make an exception. Let you use that cot in back.”
The first time Jack made such an offer, I'm not sure what he expected to get out of it. Whatever, he didn't get it. One nice thing about Jack though, you only have to say no once. He hasn't made such an offer since. But, I'd been diligent about getting home early. Huffing a couple of times, I stop to sip at my sweet tea. I look at Jack. I say, “Na, That's ok. I'll get home a’right. B'sides. It's cooler up in them mountains.”
Jack nods, then becomes focused on his observation of my own intent process. He says, “Where and how did you learn to fix stuff?”
This is not the first time Jack's asked this. I stop and think about that. I'm certain each time I give him the same answer. I say, “I do'no, it just came to me one day.”
Jack scoffs. He half laughs and says, “Yeah, sure, don't tell me. You could go to town take the test and get licensed. No longer have to deal with the Tom’s here. I'm just say'in you'd have a good chance at a better career.”
I finish, check for leaks, slowly fill the line bleeding the air from the system. Everything is sealed and tight. Gathering Jacks tools, supplies, and decadent parts I stuff them into the bag and wipe my hands on the bag.
Jack raises his eyebrows. I nod, he slips back inside and in short-order the conditioner comes on and begins to cycle. I wait and watch. I begin to stand and look up.
Jack’s hanging half in and half out.
I wave and say, “She's all good.”
Jack comes out, then up, to give me a fatherly hug. He says, “You do good work.”
I shrug out of his grasp, put some distance between us. I do like the way he refrains from adding, for a clone, at the end of that sentence though.
Jack’s arms fall to his sides. He grins, “I'm serious. About schooling. I'd help pay for it. If you was my daughter …”
I shake my head, I say, “You'd miss me. Maybe you need to get yourself a real daughter.” As I think about that and what he tried that first night I think, maybe not.
Jack waves a hand. He says, “Na.” He goes quiet. I'm unsure which he has said no to. Then he says, “You still could come check and make sure everything is in working order.”
I finish my tea and hand Jack my glass. He bends down to the spigot, gives it a short blast of filthy water. I say, “That's okay, Jack. We have a good arrangement. I don't need to be indebted to you forever.”
Jack shrugs, looking toward the hills. Pulling the towel down he works the corner into the glass to polish it. Jack says, “I know you don't like working Toms.” His head points. “Like that one inside. Just a tourist. Passing through. Now with his face plastered to the table because he thought he could ply you with a few drinks.”
I'm looking at the ground. The ants are back en-mass. Back to worship this humming deity. I've restored their continuity perhaps their existence. I shake my head to clear it of Jack’s merciless words.
Turning away, I step towards the hills. It’s the first leg of the journey into the mountains. I'm not looking at Jack. So, just to be certain he can see I'm leaving, I shout, “I'll see you tonight, Jack. Take care of yourself.”
I need to get away from the heat.
###
Outside it's hot.
The morning sun nearly blinds, reflecting off the residue of dew left from the evening. The sky is its usual blue-red, a pinkish cast across the lesser moon that looms ever large in the sky.
The sun doesn't always scorch, but it tries. The humidity is what will kill you. New Terra has little ground water. That big star keeps burning it off and tossing it back into the air around us.
I wipe my forehead with the thin sleeve of my chenille overcoat. Its iridescence, in this light, draws the casual observer’s eyes away from an affectation of my skin. Even with its light fabric, a drip of sweat travels down the declivity, tickling my breasts. Underneath I’m scantly clad with short shorts and my favorite sports bra. The overcoat is plenty of coverage, reaching half way down my thigh. It hangs open, but, there's no one here to see.
The sun has been up almost an hour and it’s already this hot. I could go back inside, but it’s worse in there.
The ants are already dancing on the clots of fractured clay around the air conditioner. Seeming unperturbed by its spurious attempts to restart, they have dissipated considerably since shutting it down.
I finish bleeding the system. Something foreign, in the lines, is gumming it up. It could be one of these ants or a whole colony. The seals on this thing are worn enough to invite intrusion.
Removing the canister and filter rig, I give the system a good blow. I hear it sputtering across something. The way I've had to patch things, sealant might have intruded. I daren't pull all the lines apart until John agrees to invest in new parts. As I worry over this the chunk works lose, the air sings to me.
I clean my sloppy work, do a visual. I shake my head. Make the sign of the cross and say a few Hail Marys. That could be sacrilegious, because I ain't religious. It all looks as good as it can be. I have to recharge the system. I cap it while the air is still running through the lines.
It's a bust. And I mean a real bust. The leak is so evident I can see the few remaining ants being blown hither and yon. Normally I'd give the wrench a good toss. I've not been using the wrench for fear of making things worse.
The back door opens fortuitously and Jack's head is sticking out. He squints under the sun. He says, “Angie, how we doing out here?”
Stepping back I say, “Hot, sticky. This damn stuff is worn beyond its warranty period by almost a decade. Could use some better sealant. A few new parts.”
Jack steps out. His slight rotund midsection makes it difficult for him to stand on the stoop and shut the door. He does a half dance as he makes a hasty retreat. Grunting he disappears, the door closes. I'm thinking he couldn't stand the heat. His head comes out again, this time he lands in the sand. The door slams itself. Sheepishly he offers me a bag. He also offers a glass of amber liquid.
I wave a hand and say, “Thanks. You know I don't drink that stuff.”
I’m clutching my chenille together in front. I’d have to let go to grab both. I turn my back towards him as I take the sack.
Jack waves his hand pointing at the glass and says, “It's tea, with sugar, the way you like it.”
Setting the bag down, I take the tea from his huge fist. Inside the bag is everything I need to do this job proper. I give Jack a well deserved harsh look. I say, “Great, make me do this twice.”
Checking the ground for ants, I stomp a bit. Then I sit. The ground feels cool. I sip the tea slowly.
Jack shrugs, wiping his fingers on the towel draped over his shoulder. He says, “Yeah, Sorry I'm bad. I know. But, I listen and I picked this up a week ago. Figured it was due to quit soon.”
Sitting with my short shorts pressed against the clay, my knees pushed up towards my chin and my hiking boots touching where my bare thighs meet the hem on the shorts, I'm a bit contorted reaching for the bag. I pour the parts in my lap. Flattening the bag on the ground I lay the parts out there. Suppressing a grimace I look at Jack and exclaim, “Wow. Shiny!”
With wrench in hand I begin removing parts of the line. Jack steps into the little shadow offered by the structure of the bar. He shades his eyes looking across the desolation toward the line of trees that mark the lower edge of the mountains.
I look into the sky with its sparse clouds. The clouds sink down at night covering the ground like a cottony blanket. The sun comes up to burn these away in short order. Moisture hangs in the air for the better part of the first two hours, before clouds start to reform.
Jack follows my gaze, he says, “If this takes too long I can make an exception. Let you use that cot in back.”
The first time Jack made such an offer, I'm not sure what he expected to get out of it. Whatever, he didn't get it. One nice thing about Jack though, you only have to say no once. He hasn't made such an offer since. But, I'd been diligent about getting home early. Huffing a couple of times, I stop to sip at my sweet tea. I look at Jack. I say, “Na, That's ok. I'll get home a’right. B'sides. It's cooler up in them mountains.”
Jack nods, then becomes focused on his observation of my own intent process. He says, “Where and how did you learn to fix stuff?”
This is not the first time Jack's asked this. I stop and think about that. I'm certain each time I give him the same answer. I say, “I do'no, it just came to me one day.”
Jack scoffs. He half laughs and says, “Yeah, sure, don't tell me. You could go to town take the test and get licensed. No longer have to deal with the Tom’s here. I'm just say'in you'd have a good chance at a better career.”
I finish, check for leaks, slowly fill the line bleeding the air from the system. Everything is sealed and tight. Gathering Jacks tools, supplies, and decadent parts I stuff them into the bag and wipe my hands on the bag.
Jack raises his eyebrows. I nod, he slips back inside and in short-order the conditioner comes on and begins to cycle. I wait and watch. I begin to stand and look up.
Jack’s hanging half in and half out.
I wave and say, “She's all good.”
Jack comes out, then up, to give me a fatherly hug. He says, “You do good work.”
I shrug out of his grasp, put some distance between us. I do like the way he refrains from adding, for a clone, at the end of that sentence though.
Jack’s arms fall to his sides. He grins, “I'm serious. About schooling. I'd help pay for it. If you was my daughter …”
I shake my head, I say, “You'd miss me. Maybe you need to get yourself a real daughter.” As I think about that and what he tried that first night I think, maybe not.
Jack waves a hand. He says, “Na.” He goes quiet. I'm unsure which he has said no to. Then he says, “You still could come check and make sure everything is in working order.”
I finish my tea and hand Jack my glass. He bends down to the spigot, gives it a short blast of filthy water. I say, “That's okay, Jack. We have a good arrangement. I don't need to be indebted to you forever.”
Jack shrugs, looking toward the hills. Pulling the towel down he works the corner into the glass to polish it. Jack says, “I know you don't like working Toms.” His head points. “Like that one inside. Just a tourist. Passing through. Now with his face plastered to the table because he thought he could ply you with a few drinks.”
I'm looking at the ground. The ants are back en-mass. Back to worship this humming deity. I've restored their continuity perhaps their existence. I shake my head to clear it of Jack’s merciless words.
Turning away, I step towards the hills. It’s the first leg of the journey into the mountains. I'm not looking at Jack. So, just to be certain he can see I'm leaving, I shout, “I'll see you tonight, Jack. Take care of yourself.”
I need to get away from the heat.
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