This scene takes place after New Neighbors…
After a few hours, Newt comes back out of the aircon vent of times long past and heads for Blot, taking a tablet out of his backpack.
“Hey, Blot!”
The heavy-set merchant’s mouth crooks into a half-smile as the boy approaches. “Hey, gramps, how you doing?”
Newt rolls his eyes. “You need your eyes examined.” He shows him the display of his well-used tablet. “Iron’s End needs this stuff.”
Blot peers at the items listed on the tablet. He leans closer, squinting to make out some words through the smudged surface of the device.
“You know, I can probably scrounge up a new screen for this. It’d just cost, say, four strands of your hair. Deal?”
Newt considers this. “Well… this is to help repair Iron’s End, so I asked Patch about it beforehand. She had a different payment in mind.”
Blot frowns. “Did she?” He gets to his feet and starts rummaging through crates on the shelves in his vendor area. “Might need to delve into my stash for some of those items, but I’m sure I’ve got a few old drones you could chop for parts.”
Newt nods slightly and oohs at the mention of drones. “That sounds pretty cool.”
After a few minutes, Blot deposits four drones in varying states of disrepair on the counter in front of Newt.
“See if you can get what you need from those. I’ll check the stash later.”
Newt grins. “Sweet. Thanks.” He swings his backpack around and puts a couple in there. Then, grabbing the other two in his hands:
“I’ll be back.” He heads off happily toward the pub.
In the pub, known to locals as The Scrapper’s Respite, the silver-haired female proprietor is currently pouring an alcoholic beverage for one of the human patrons.
Newt enters and looks around. Spotting the proprietor, he says, “Hi!” and searches for a table to deposit his stuff.
Several tables are available. Reeva gestures toward one in the corner.
“Right over there should be fine.”
Newt grins and heads over. “Thanks. Do you do sandwiches and stuff?”
“You’re Patch’s new helper, right?” she inquires. “Nut? Funny name.”
Newt sits down and puts two drones on the table before taking off his backpack and placing it between his legs.
“Yeah. And it’s Newt. Going to help fix the drones and stuff. These guys are ones Blot gave me for spare parts, but I wanna see if there’s enough between them to rebuild one or two.”
“Hungry work,” Reeva replies. “Any particular kind of sandwich? Bread’s sort of fresh. Meat’s still passable.”
Newt uhhhs… and shrugs. “I dunno. Whatever ya got as long as a human can eat it and like it. And a drink, please. Lemonade?”
“Lemonade?” Reeva looks puzzled. “Been around a long time and I can’t say I’ve ever heard of that. I’ve got cycled water and a few different juices – flintberry, harpfruit, apple.”
Newt ooohs. “I got to have it ages back. Was hoping.” He shrugs. “Ummm… whichever juice is the freshest.”
“Flintberry, then,” she says. “But if you get me the recipe for lemonade, I’ll see what I can do. For the sandwich – you ok with dribgib dark meat?”
Newt grins, looking up from the drone. “Yeah. Totally.”
Reeva disappears into a back room for a couple of minutes, then returns with a loaf of fresh-baked bread and some refrigerated dribgib slices.
“What do you like on your sandwich? I think we’ve got mayo, mustard that’s not too old, some pickles…”
Newt hmms. “Mayo and mustard, please.”
While she prepares the sandwich, Reeva asks, “Is Newt short for something? Newton?”
Newt shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. What’s your name?”
“I’m Reeva,” she says, setting a plate with the sandwich and a cup of juice next to one of the drones on the table.
Newt smiles. “That sounds like River. Nice.”
“It’s actually short for Revenant,” the proprietor informs him as she returns to the bar counter. “Means someone who comes back from the dead. Creeped me out when my mother told me that. So I tell folks to call me Reeva.”
Newt’s eyebrows go up, totally surprised. “Seriously? That’s whacked.” He recovers just enough to grab the sandwich. “Thanks.”
“On the house, by the way,” Reeva says with a slight smile. “Patch has you covered. Just get those drones working again.”
Newt bites into the sandwich and, mouth full, says, “Totally!” He takes a drink. “Gonna see what’s up with these ones first. Got ’em from Blot.” He takes another bite and then begins to examine one of the drones.
“Blot, huh? That’s helpful of him,” she quips with a smirk.
Newt nods, grabbing his backpack and taking out two more drones. “Patch helped negotiate. She’s pretty cool.”
“She’s all right if you stay on her good side,” Reeva says. “Which I try to do. Better for my health.”
Newt ahs and takes out a few things from his pack. “Yeah I figured, but I wanna fix stuff and she wants stuff fixed and I’m good at fixing stuff so… you know – all good, I reckon.”
“All good,” Reeva agrees, wiping down the counter. “So you helped get life support back online? How’s it looking out there?”
Newt uhuhs and begins to open up the drone. “Well… There’s a bit of a hole in the hull that needs unholing. That’s what I’m helping with.”
“A new hole,” the proprietor chuckles. “We’ve got more than a few. I gather this one’s bigger than one of our usual bumps and bruises.”
Newt hehs, concentrating on the drone. “Yeah. A Rustborn ship made this one when it failed to dodge the station.”
“They really should be more careful,” Reeva replies. She pours a drink for another customer.
That’s about the time Blot comes wandering in.
“Making deals is thirsty work,” the merchant says as he approaches the counter. He notices Newt fiddling with the drone carcasses and gives the usual “pew-pew” fingers.
“The usual?” Reeva asks.
“The usual? On a day like this? No, ma’am. Let’s go unusual.“
“How unusual? Zangali Canal Water?”
“Ewww, no,” Blot replies. “But an Odari Red might hit the spot.”
“If it hits the wrong spot, you’re going into diabetic shock and we haven’t replaced the last doctor yet,” Reeva warns.
Newt begins testing circuits. Eventually, one causes the drone to emit an electronic farting noise and then go silent. Newt lets out a small giggle and grabs another drone to start again.
“Half the sugar, then,” Blot says. “And I’d think our little party in the Shambles today would drive home the need to get a new doctor on board. We don’t have that many medics. We get a real disaster here, we’re screwed.”
Newt bites his lip and tests a part in the next drone. No fart this time. He grabs his sandwich, takes a bite, then resumes the hunt for faults.
Reeva slides a mug across the counter to Blot and studies him with narrowed eyes.
“What?” he asks, peevish.
“I think you know what,” she replies.
Blot blinks. “Am I behind on my bar tab?”
Reeva doesn’t answer. He pales, sets down the mug, and crosses his arms, suddenly very interested in a far bulkhead.
She leans forward, tapping him on the chest. “Use your goddamned head.”
Blot abandons his unfinished drink and makes for the exit – just as Marshal Dorian Rake is coming in.
“Hey, Reeva,” the marshal says, pausing briefly to watch Blot disappear. “I don’t recall seeing him move that quickly before.”
“Hi, Marshal,” Reeva replies, clearly uninterested in discussing Blot. “What’ll you have?”
Rake glances at Newt. “Whatever he’s having is fine. Thanks.” He approaches the kid’s table and offers a smile. “Hard at work, I see.”
Rosa enters shortly after. “Hm. What bit Blot’s britches?” She approaches the bar. “A large flintberry juice, please.”
Newt startles and looks up, adjusting his hood. “Oh. Hey. Yeah. Trying to see which of these bots Blot gave me is salvageable and which get totally recycled.”
“Oh, yeah?” Rake nods. “Any luck so far?”
Reeva gets to work on Rosa’s drink.
Newt frowns and rummages in his backpack. “I got one to fart.”
Rake laughs. “Well, I guess that’s a step up from nothing.”
Reeva finishes Rosa’s drink, then begins making a sandwich for Rake.
“I think some of the Nall aboard Galactix are going to help you,” the marshal adds. “Maybe they’ve even got more parts for drones?”
Newt looks up, surprised. “Seriously?”
“Bound to be plenty of pre-Helix tech on board,” Rake replies. “And the ship’s engineer just came aboard. Offered to help.”
Rosa sips her drink. “Definitely a lot of tech—not to mention information. I’m sure our version of history has a good bit wrong.”
Newt appears to ponder this. “You reckon they’d share?”
“They seem pretty friendly,” Rake says.
Newt considers as he probes one of the drones. A few moments later, it powers up – and hovers. Newt grins. “Yes!”
“That’s a good sign,” the marshal says, moving to take his seat at the counter where his sandwich awaits. Reeva passes Rosa a mug of juice.
Rosa smiles as she watches Newt. “You certainly have got a knack for that.” Then she turns to Rake and whispers, “Any word from the travelers?”
“The escapees?” Rake shakes his head. “Nothing. I hope they’re steering clear of trouble.”
“Me too. Do you understand the politics of the whole thing outside of ‘innocent child caught in the middle of something nasty’?”
“You mean besides the fact the kid’s the spawn of the top Rustborn warlord? I’m not sure we need to understand much more than that.”
“But what does that mean? Destined for a throne? A ritual sacrifice? Or someone in between? Is it likely the, um, relationship was against the mother’s will?”
Newt pulls out his tablet and begins poking at it and the functioning drone. It makes an odd noise, stops hovering, then beeps five times and says:
“Booting in progress. Please hold. … … … Ready.”
The drone hovers again. Newt grins like a kid in a lolly shop.
Rake is about to respond to Rosa when he hears the drone beep. “Well, how about that?”
Newt keeps tapping on his tablet, humming. Mid-waddle waddle, the bot suddenly announces:
“Search and destroy mode activated.”
Newt sits up. “No, no, no, no…” He taps away furiously.
“Search and record mode activated.”
Newt nods. “Right. Similar but different.” The humming resumes.
“Similar,” Rake agrees, holstering the pistol he had drawn.
Reeva chuckles, shaking her head.
Newt takes another bite of his sandwich, washes it down, and continues tapping. Eventually he says, “Go forth and ID stuff.” The drone moves off to quietly catalogue the contents of the pub.
Rosa laughs. “We all appreciate the switch there, Newt. We’ve had enough destruction for a bit.”
Newt looks over. “Yeah, well, that woulda sucked. Not that it would’ve been able to do much, but… suckage anyway.”
Rake is about to eat when his commlink chimes. He activates the device.
“Rake here, go ahead.”
“Marshal,” a gruff male voice says. “We’ve got a freighter made a rough landing. Berth 9. Loaded with refugees. Her captain’s got some box that’s hissing and smoking and she won’t let anyone touch it. Figured I’d best call you.”
Rake deactivates the commlink, puts down his sandwich, and slides the plate to Reeva. “Fridge. I’ll get it later. Thanks.” He heads for the exit.
“Sounds like a situation that might need some medical assistance,” Rosa says, hastily paying for her drink and following.
Newt watches as they leave, then starts packing up. Once everything’s in his backpack, he picks up the remaining drone.
“Hey Spot. Come on. We’re going.”
The drone that was cataloguing stops and begins to follow.
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