Grubs had exchanged the fingers on his cybernetic arm with a set of tools and was half inside Rusty Bolt’s starboard engine. He was working quietly, calmly, methodically. Opening up panels, tightening vales and bolts, inspecting cables and pipes. With the outer plates taken off, the engine was a tangle of pipes, combustion chambers and electronics, some of it obviously not part of the original design. The engine was shut down, but being in the belly of the ship, there were sounds of coolant rushing through nearby pipes and the clangs and clicks of other parts of the ship working in standby, keeping the main systems running.

In his 50-odd years he had seen and fixed plenty of ship parts, and a good portion of Rusty Bolt’s excellent performance on the job was his jury-rigged touches. On the downside, that meant that many parts of the cobbled together pirate ship only he could fix up properly. Pointless to outsource work if explaining all the modifications to a station mechanic would take longer than just doing the job himself.

There were still plenty of standard parts, and said station mechanics were working on those, in order to get Rusty Bolt ready for the next job. Life as a pirate meant everything had to be ready so the crew could assemble and launch on short notice, so they could take opportunities as they appeared.

Spare parts, reaction mass, fresh water and food were all ordered and would arrive sometime within the day.

„Hey Grubs, old man!“, shouted a deep voice through the noise of repairs and machinery, and a broad-shouldered man in working clothes climbed up into the engine room.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Grubs moved until he could poke out his head to look, then emerged entirely and gave the newcomer a wide grin. „Micah! What are you bastard doing here?“

They gave each other a short embrace and bump, Micah being two heads shorter than Grubs but just as wide and very muscular due to growing up on a high-gravity planet.

„Thought you could need some help. Given that you’re close to pension age and all.“, Micah replied, himself being mid-30s.

Grubs scoffed. „Says who? But yeah, at least one more pair of hands that are actually competent would help. We had a rough ride and while she’s holding on well, some work is needed.“

„Sure thin, Grubs.“, Micah gave the engine a quick glance, „You ok otherwise? Haven’t heard from you for a while.“

„I’m fine, yeah. Been keeping busy.“

„So I heard. Greetings from Gena by the way. She was on the station recently for a week or so, but you were out. We talked a bit. You know, about you, about Nikki, old stuff.“

Grubs tightened his shoulders for a second, and for a tiny moment narrowed his eyes. „Yeah“, he said simply.

Grubs had become visibly uncomfortable and avoided looking Micah in the eye.

„Grubs. It’s been what, two years since Nikki passed away? You’ve got to let go, man. Gena was devastated as well for a year or so. You two should’ve talked more.“

„She is her sister. Not her husband.“, Grubs snapped, his voice clearly controlled to sound calm and neutral, but barely managing so.

Micah sighed, a mixture of emotions on his face in quick succession. As a friend, it was hard for him to see Grubs suffer, but he was also becoming angry that the guy just kept it all inside when so many of his friends and family were there to help.

„Was, Grubs. Was.“

There was an uneasy silence for a while, broken only by the hum of the ship and the distant noises from the docking bay. Both men looking at machine parts rather than each other. It was Micah who broke the silence finally: „Anyway, what exactly do you need help with?“