Tinker’s Damn – Phrase

Something of no value, i.e. "Not worth a Tinker’s Damn".

Webster’s New World College Dictionary, 4th Edition.

The blade felt good in his hand. Just a scrap of metal, rubbed against a rock to sharpen it. He kept it clutched against his chest at night to keep the monsters away. But the monsters never really went away.

He couldn’t remember his last meal. Something from the trash...monster food, bad-tasting. But he’d been hungry then too, swallowing it down before it could come back up. It had made him sick, curled up and hurting, holding his tummy tight to keep it down. That had been a bad time. And now he was hungry again...the hungry that leaves you wobbly. The monsters had chased him away from all the good dumps, shouting and buzzing at him as he ran for his life.

Diggs already knew not to try the crawling things in the dirt. Those were very bad for you. The big people had told him that, long ago. He didn’t remember them real good, but he was sure they’d been important to him.

Pretty sure.

He had to eat. Had to, or he was gonna lay down and not get up. He thought and thought and thought. Diggs took his blade and crawled into a perch; a place he knew that had the best view. He had his blade, and he could wave it at them, make it give him food. People food, not monster stuff. So he waited. And waited. And fell asleep.

He woke up groggy, everything feeling fuzzy. Diggs rubbed at his eyes, looking around...and then he saw it. The monster. He hated the monsters, hated them...and felt his fingers curl around his blade. He kept hating them as he climbed down, staggering through the alley to jump out at the monster and jab the air with his blade, making his scary face with the teeth and the growling. The monster stopped, swirling about as it gazed down at him.

Something flashed in the air and he stumbled back, but it was so much faster, jabbing into him, hurting him! He staggered, the blade falling to the dirt...and then he fell to the dirt, as the monster swirled away, his chest squeezing him so hard he couldn’t breathe...before everything turned black.

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Maggie puttered through the back alleys, with one eye out for the shiny bits and the other on the throttle. She’d known that damn potentiometer was wonky, but she’d been so sure she could coax a few more kilometers out of it. Ha! She’d already jury-rigged it as best she could, but what she needed to do was find a spare. She could build one if she had to, but it would be a clunky makeshift job, even more unreliable than what she was dealing with now. With the right parts she could make damn near anything...but when did that ever happen?

Never, that’s when. Maggie hacked up a goober and spit, wiping her face with her sleeve. Good parts cost...in credits, in trade...and if she had any of that she wouldn’t be out here digging through the trash, now would she? She’d make do like she always had and spend half her time rebuilding.

This new district didn’t look like a great place for setting up shop, but beggars can’t be choosers. She’d snuck away from her last nest one step ahead of the government thugs, not known for their love of Humanity. It was all bullshit; a missing item, an injured pet, and the fingers started pointing. Terrans had been the galaxy’s favorite scapegoat for nigh on two centuries now, so why should she be any different? Rule number one in this day and age was “Don’t Rock the Boat”, though she must have broken it somehow. Stay low, stay out of sight, and keep moving.

Tomorrow? Don’t let yourself think about tomorrow. It just makes you crazy. Better to believe there ain’t no such thing. That way, when it shows up...if it shows up...it’ll be a surprise. A bad one, most likely.

The throttle jerked for a moment, just long enough to give her a start, before settling back down. Maggie glared at the pedal, daring it to try that again, and then turned her attention back to the warren she was working her way through. It looked like an old industrial zone that’d fallen on hard times, which was about as close to perfect as she could hope for. There’d be nothing of real value here, but a Tinker had different priorities.

If the Tinkers had a motto, it’d be “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure”. It was amazing the stuff that got thrown out. The electric scooter she was puttering around on was built from parts she’d scavenged here and there, and if it didn’t look like much, who cares? It worked. That was more important than some half-baked notion of aesthetics. Most of the stuff she found was leftovers of some fad, already passé before it hit the ground. Good, serviceable gear, just needing a little TLC to bring it back to life.

Maggie pulled her scooter over to the side of the alley and switched it off. No sense wasting precious juice, and maybe it’d give that potentiometer a chance to settle down. She snorted at that. Murphy’s Law was alive and well in this corner of the galaxy, and it had a fucking hardon for people like her.

Pausing for a moment, she took in her surroundings. There was a battered collection bin that looked promising, and feeling every one of her years she used the scooter for a boost, climbing up the side and peering down into the darkness. Nothing caught her eye as she scanned the interior. It only took a few seconds surveying the contents to convince her it was a bust, as she used her new roost to look for something better. Maggie took her time, not wanting to miss anything, but as she made a slow pivot, she could feel the acid in her belly start to boil. This district wasn’t panning out.

She’d only arrived on Azhakom a few months earlier, taking transport on an old freighter. They were glad to see her, their last engineer had moved on, leaving them in dire straits. Working her passage, fixing what needed fixin’, just like always, and by the time they’d arrived the crew begged her to stay on. She’d refused, as she never liked to stay in one place for long. There were...reasons.

Shaking her head in disgust, Maggie started climbing back down when...

...wait...what was that?

It looked like just another pile of trash, but that was before it moved. She felt the blood in her veins freeze. No...it couldn’t be…

Maggie jumped down and fired up the scooter, whipping it around so fast it threatened to spill over, racing to where she’d spotted the strange object, and to Hell with the throttle. If she was right…

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In less than a minute she was screeching to a halt and hopping off the scooter, scurrying over to where the child lay. A boy, rail-thin, unconscious and gasping for air while his limbs jerked and twitched, with flecks of white foam dotting his pale lips.

“No no no!” Maggie tugged at the boy’s clothes, tearing open his thin shirt, her eyes narrowing at the bloody puncture mark at the base of his throat. “Dear God boy, what did you do?” she snapped, her mind reeling at what to do next. The puncture mark, the foam on his lips, the spasms...all clear signs of Xaak Symbiote poisoning.

If the boy did not get help soon...very soon...he’d die.

The Azha-Xaak authorities had the antidote but going to them would lead to questions....questions that were better left unanswered. Xaak symbiotes only attacked when they saw a clear threat to their Azha hosts, and by their laws, that they had poisoned him was clear proof of his guilt.

The punishment, of course, was death.

Her own medical supplies were meager, her training haphazard, but it was enough to tell her she was in over her head. “Damnit,” she cursed, “damnit damnit damnit.” Why the fuck did this have to happen to her? She spun around again, praying there was somebody, anybody, nearby she could dump this off on.

But there was no one, just as she’d known. She could walk away, and try to live with the fact she let him die, or...she could do something about it.

“FUCK!” she shouted at the sky, her voice echoing through the deserted streets. “I do not fucking need this!” She glared at the kid, willing he’d get up on his own...but it wasn’t in the cards and she’d known that from the start. “Make your choice, old woman,” she grumbled, before sighing in defeat.

She wasn’t a fan of kids...hell, she wasn’t a fan of people...but turning her back on a dying child? That was one line she couldn’t bring herself to cross.

The decision now made, Maggie cursed as she grabbed the kid’s arm and threw it around her neck, hoisting him up. The skinny little runt was even lighter than she’d first thought, but by the time she drug his body to the scooter and dumped him amongst the junk she was gasping with the effort. “Maggie old girl, you ain’t as young as you was,” she wheezed, tucking in his legs, before pulling out her minicomp and opening a rarely used app. Squinting at the cracked screen, she input the search parameters, scowling as the answer popped up almost immediately. An hour’s drive, she figured, which surprised her. Humans were sparse on this world, and she hadn’t known there were any others nearby.

Sparing her passenger a quick look, she cursed yet again. Kid might not have an hour.

“Then stop wastin’ time,” she snorted, climbing on the seat and giving the power gauge a tap. It was gonna be close. Strapping in, she tromped on the throttle, heading for the other side of the alien megalopolis.

There wasn’t a direct route...or there was, just not one she dared take. Too much traffic, too fast traffic, and too much heat on the roads. The local bulls would snatch her up in a heartbeat, which was bad enough, but once they found the kid…

Yeah...no. Side streets it is.

Maggie stopped when she could, checking on her passenger, but each time she looked his breathing got shallower and his color worse. Any margin she might have had was getting cut razor-thin, so she firewalled the throttle and crossed her fingers. If that damn potentiometer could just hold on a little longer…

Ten minutes later, it coughed and ground to a halt.

Her string of curses could have stripped paint off a hull as she kicked the scooter, biting her tongue she limped over to check on the brat, peeling back an eyelid. His glassy stare and dilated pupils told a grim tale as she bowed to the inevitable, grabbing her toolkit and popping open the engine compartment. Getting the scooter running again was a simple enough matter...just a few minutes of butchery as she cross-connected the potentiometers.

It’d work all right...and burn itself out in the process. All those months scavenging and rebuilding, wasted. Maggie snarled, “You better be worth it,” over her shoulder as she strapped back in, bracing herself as she hit the throttle. Jury-rigged like it was there were only two settings now...full stop, and full throttle. It made for a bumpy ride...on a couple turns she almost pitched him out, before getting the beast back under control.

Her guesstimate of a deadline was nearly up when she lurched to a halt in front of a nondescript building...just as the scooter coughed out an acrid cloud smelling of burnt electronics before it wheezed and died. Maggie had known its fate when she’d made the jury-rigged repairs, but she still wanted to scream in frustration. It would take her weeks to fix it!

Maggie growled, smoldering as she turned to look at her destination. It was an old warehouse, slightly refurbished, with a red diamond blazing above the entrance. A handful of Azha lurked beneath the portico, but she ignored them. It was the proprietors she was interested in, and besides, none of the aliens were cloaked within a Xaak symbiote. Losing a symbiote was bad news for them, the government all but ignoring their plight, believing that a true Azha would have died along with its symbiote. It was an ancient custom, and not universal...but enough followed it that aid was basically nonexistent.

So they’d come to the Knights, just like she had. They didn’t turn away those in need, no matter the species, as long as they could render aid. They were skilled Healers, but that was only part of their charter...for the Knights Hospitaller were also Warriors. Anyone under their protection was safe from harm...and they would die to the last defending them, if it came to that.

It was a Code Maggie could respect...even if she couldn’t follow it herself.

“Hello in there!” she shouted. “I got a kid who needs looking after!”

A figure appeared at the door; a kit slung over her shoulder. Her shoulder bore the rank of Chevalier Troisième, her dark skin and hair hiding her emotions as she knelt next to the scooter, checking out the kid. Maggie grimaced as she realized the young woman was several months pregnant. Of course she’d have one in the oven, as disgustingly young and healthy as she looked to be. Looking away she glared at the Azha lounging nearby, daring them to start something.

None accepted the challenge, buzzing and gabbling to themselves as they gave her a wide berth which suited her just fine. Not having her translator switched on, she didn’t understand what they were saying...nothing nice about her, she was certain.

“Symbiote poisoning,” the medic confirmed, as she tapped the communicator on her wrist. “Bring a stretcher out front,” she ordered, “and prep the ventilator stet.”

“On our way,” a voice replied, as the medic looked up at her.

“Family?” she asked. “One of your Clan mates?”

“Just stumbled across him,” Maggie replied, shaking her head. “I got no idea who he is.”

The young woman nodded, taking that in, as a pair of Sixièmes came running out carrying a stretcher. Orderlies then, she thought to herself, just starting their careers. They lifted the kid from the scooter and carried him in.

“Well, come inside,” she smiled, giving Maggie the professional once over. “I suspect you could do with a good meal, and I have a feeling it’s been a while since you last had a workup.”

Maggie shook her head, waving her off. “I just came here to drop off the kid,” she balked, stepping back. “Thanks anyway, but I got places to go…” her words grinding to a halt as she looked once again at the deceased scooter. “Well...fuck,” she swore, before shrugging in defeat. “I guess I’ll take you up on that meal...at least till I can fix my ride,” she said at last, jabbing a finger in the Knight’s direction. “But no poking and prodding!”

“Of course not,” she smiled, as Maggie eyed her like an ear-worn deck. When the KH looked at you like that you just knew the needles were coming out. “I’m Blye Tagata,” she said as an introduction, looking at her expectantly as if she was waiting for something.

She turned her head and spit, clearing the dust from her mouth. “...Maggie,” she answered. Wait all you want, she thought to herself, I ain’t doing the blessing.

The moment passed as the young Chevalier shrugged it off, extending an arm to guide her inside.