Breckenridge Refinery, Outskirts of the Rose
He found, if he focused enough, that he wasn’t so conscious of Tom. He scarcely noticed each time the other man eased gently around him in the close dark.
There was certainly plenty to focus on. The patterns were clear in his mind, and he traced them along unceasingly, navigating carefully through the delicate work, the tight space; slowly, he aligned the equipment to bring them back to life. There were pieces that were missing; he would need to tell someone about them, he thought.
With each step in the progression, Aremu waited, and wondered, and half expected that – yes – here, they would need to stop and go no further. Here, there would be an impasse. But to his surprise, every time there was a way forward, a way around, so that it almost felt oddly deliberate to Aremu. It squirmed, uncomfortable, in his stomach, and he tried not to think about it; the thoughts took him out of himself enough that he found himself glancing, unerringly, to the patch of darkness where Tom stood, arms crossed over his chest. In the dim, he couldn’t quite pick out the expression on the other man’s face, and he was abruptly ashamed of himself for trying, ashamed of himself for wanting to know –
Aremu turned his focus back to the equipment, and kept going. In time he passed the heavy containment chamber, and then he was following the path of the reactor’s out, past the cooling tube, to where – if the gods favored Uzoji, because Aremu was not such a fool as to think they might favor him – they might yet find aetherium, some time before the dawn.
On this side of the chamber, he had to wind himself in and amongst the equipment – to stretch himself out to reach, here and there. Several times, he thought of asking Tom for help, but – once, he did, when there was something high overhead which needed tightening, and then he left the wrench in place and retreated back, away, to fiddle with his screwdriver at the containment chamber.
Once.
“Aremu?” Uzoji’s voice drifted through the space around the pipes.
Aremu jerked, caught the wrench he’d nearly dropped, and felt his whole body go nearly limp with relief. “Ea, iora?” He called, and kept his voice as light as he could manage.
Uzoji’s chuckle was audible, too. Aremu gave the last of the fixtures one last tightening squeeze, and made his way back to the heavy pipe that blocked them off from the rest of it, holding close.
“So?” Uzoji asked, and Aremu understood all the rest from that one word.
“Better than it has any right to be,” Aremu said, and he shrugged, as if Uzoji could see him. “The last piece is before you.”
Aremu thought he could almost hear Uzoji thinking it over. “Lifted?” He asked, and for once Aremu heard a note of caution in his voice.
“Yes,” Aremu rebuffed it, firmly. He eased his knife of the belt of his pants, set it down, and shoved the wrench and screwdriver more firmly into his belt. He knew without asking that Uzoji would wait for his signal.
Aremu glanced around, and then back at Tom, lifting his gaze up to meet the human’s for a moment. He hesitated, wanting to reassure him, and then knew himself a fool, if he hadn’t before. “Stay back – at the chamber,” he gestured, and left it at that. It was better that way, Aremu thought; he would not make a fool of himself with the assumption that this – that any of it – he was content to think that if the worst happened, he wouldn’t get anyone else hurt with what he meant to do.
The Mugrobi would have prayed, if he had thought it would make any difference. He eased himself up onto one of the tanks nearly, and then climbed from there, clinging to the ceiling. Carefully, he hooked his legs through the pipe that ran along the ceiling – took the screwdriver between his teeth again and the wrench in his hand, and let himself dangle, upside down, at the spot where the pipes Tom had lifted so arduously before would need to be brought together with all the rest of it. He took the deepest breath he could manage, and called, without hesitation: “Now!”
Niccolette had not, in the end, minded sitting down, after she had washed her face clean. She had even closed her eyes. Biscuit had found her lap, and had immediately set about prickling holes into her skirt with her claws, rubbing an impressive amount of fur into her skirt. Niccolette, naturally, had scowled, but Uzoji had caught her petting the cat when she thought no one was looking. He had eased his gaze away, smoothly enough that he didn’t think she’d noticed.
Uzoji did not think Osborne, Rowland or Aiden had ever quite become comfortable, but then they had not been comfortable to start. He tried to keep the talking required of Collingwood to a minimum, but there were diagrams to look at, and spells to read over, carefully, spells he himself had not cast before. He read them, and although he did not try to memorize them, in such a short time, he familiarized himself with the rhythms of the monite, so he would not be caught off-guard by any of it while casting.
Better, Uzoji thought, not to burden Collingwood with his and Niccolette’s presence during what he knew would be a long and painful walk down from the office, across the factory floor – out, into the steadily pouring rain and across the yard to the reactor, wherever it was.
“Perhaps Aiden could show us to the reactor?” Uzoji suggested, turning to the man with the lantern. Uzoji knew that if it could be fixed, Aremu would do it – but there was no sense in hurrying Collingwood, or in forcing the walk on him if the mechanics of the reactor proved to be beyond repair.
Niccolette shook out her skirts. Biscuit held firmly on. The Bastian scowled down at the cat, and then looked pleadingly up at Uzoji.
Uzoji very successfully kept from laughing, scratching the cat behind the ears and easing her off of his wife’s lap, her claws pricking one last time at Niccolette’s skirt. He cradled the cat against his chest for a moment, scratching her behind the ears, and then gently set her down. By then Niccolette had risen, and she swept her skirts away from the resumption of Biscuit’s attentions.
They followed Aiden out into the sweeping, driving rain, followed his bobbing lantern and heavy walk through the yard, to where a glimmer of light was just visible inside an open fence. Marlin was inside, leaning against the door, and he started to his feet when they entered.
Uzoji sent Aiden back on the strength of Aremu’s words. “Thank you, Aiden,” He said, smiling. “Tell Collingwood we’ll need him here, when he feels ready.”
Uzoji watched until Aremu gave him the word; he could see his friend, just barely, the light glinting off of his bare stomach as he hung upsidedown. Niccolette held back against the wall.
Uzoji began to cast, his gaze focused on the heavy pipes, his field swirling around him. He felt the weight of it as the mona began to lift the pipe, circling and flowing around it, taking away the force of gravity until it began to rise, steadily, into the air. Uzoji curled the spell, and held it in place, the upkeep whistling through his mind.
Aremu swung himself beneath it, and began to work, frowning intently. He secured the first half as quickly as he could, just enough – shimmied across the pipe as Uzoji held it up, and secured the other half, still dangling from the ceiling.
Uzoji released the spell in a long whoosh of air, coughing slightly, and straightened up, taking a long, deep breath. He was conscious of the trust Aremu had placed in him – not surprised, but conscious, and grateful for the other man, not for the first time. Niccolette had stirred behind him, but didn’t move, which Uzoji felt was an impressive victory.
The pipe groaned, faintly, but held. Aremu finished his work and dropped to a crouch on the ground with a soft thud. He rose, cracking his neck against his hand, and grinned. He walked beneath the heavy pipe without reservations. He glanced back behind him, and Uzoji could just barely see Tom, lingering at the far end of the corridor of equipment. He met his eyes, as best as he could in the dark, and nodded, once, very firmly.
“Hot in here,” Uzoji said, cheerfully, turning away with no further comment. He glanced back at Niccolette. “Will it…?”
“No,” Niccolette shrugged. “I do not think it should be an issue.”
Aremu settled against the wall next to her, and Niccolette glanced him over professionally. She grimaced and raised her eyebrows at the sight of the bloody smear on his calf. Aremu shrugged, and Niccolette made a little face, but nodded, acceptingly, resting against the wall only a few inches from her crewmate.
Uzoji nodded, smiling, and settled his hands into his pockets. “We might just pull this off,” he said, and grinned. He had never doubted, not really; how could he?