Didi and the Gunslinger

Chapter 6: Dad

Didi's foul humor lasts all the way home. Pip's quiet doesn't hold out, though, and that's part of the problem. Before they're even in sight of the collection of bits and scraps that Didi's Dad declared their house, the crow opens his beak.

"You really need to tell Tarvis about the way Jackus spoke to you." Didi snorts, knowing doing so will reap no benefit. "Look, the main house light is on. You're in trouble, young lady." She grinds her teeth together, not bothering to remind him he's the reason she's out so late. Besides, Dad knows better than to give her grief. She's the only one who takes care of him. A bit of scowling and crossed arms and he'll be backing off any kind of harangue he might try to deliver.

The crow, on the other hand... simply doesn't know when to shut his trap. Didi's forehead aches from frowning as she stomps the last quarter mile for home, strongly considering letting Pip stay broken the next time he decides to fly off with those reprobate cousins of his.

"You just be careful the next time you're near Jackus's territory," Pip says, just as sure as if that's something she hadn't considered with her own brain, the silly creature. "And that means giving up on any idea you might have to go back to those gunslingers."

She's smart enough to admit she's irritated more by his understanding of her motives than the words he's actually saying. No matter. Maybe she could deactivate his voice box, just for a little while.

His chest feathers puff up, for the life of her as though he's some pontificating wise man, cyborg eye brightening as he glares at her. "Don't think I can't hear your mind whirling, Didi."

She pushes through the front door, enough oil on the old entry to someone's long-lost spacer swinging easily inward at her touch. Its original design called for a slider, but she likes the action of that push the best, the satisfying way its perfectly balanced weight moves with ease under her fingertips. Took her weeks to get the pulley system holding it in place just right, fiddling and finagling until the barest brush of her touch would move it. The latch catches as she swings it shut, locking with a faint click behind her while Pip sighs on her shoulder. The security grid she's wired up hums to life, sealing them off from the outside world.

"What am I going to do with you?"

She's already moving through the front entry to their home, lined with salvaged parts she has, as yet, to find a use for. Dad doesn't complain about the junk inside-he's as bad as she is when it comes to sorting through what's there for his own use. She keeps it tidy, at least, the metal parts piled high to the ceiling of the back half of a cargo bay welded with plasfoam to the front twenty feet of a scrapped housing module. She likes the impressive way the ceiling of the bay curves upward over the front of the main house, like some kind of grand foyer she's seen in vids. A thin veil of plas hums as she passes through it, popping out her mouth guard and nose filters on the other side. The house itself has its own protections from the stink and chemicals of the planet, enough her exposure to outside every morning gives her a start at the stench.

The kitchen is empty, stove dark and cold. She lucked out on the heating node from a plasma generator, more than enough power to run the rusting old cook unit. She pulls open the front doors, both handles sliding in her grip, and frowns at the interior. Won't take long to reheat a slab of the slush mole she caught and skinned two days ago. As long as Dad hadn't finished it off for lunch.

She can hear him puttering in his lab on the other side of the wall, the thin metal not much of a sound insulator. At least he hasn't noticed she was gone, after all. While Didi is certain she can win out on any argument with Dad, she'd rather not have to. He's so much more pliable when he's happy.

The cooler lid creaks when she opens it, stacks of mole steak piled on one side wrapped in protective plas, steam rising to the surface as hot air meets cold. Two steaks should do it and, though the memory of slaughtering the creature is still close to the surface-she hates killing anything, food needs or not-her mouth is already watering at the thought of grilled mole steak.

Pip hops down on the counter, a slab of petrified wood someone dumped near the edge of the sludge creek, the perfect size and shape for the new center island she built to give her a place to prep food. Dad used to handle all this, but Didi finds it easier to take care of dinner. Especially if she actually wants to eat and not starve while his focus on work keeps him distracted.

"Didi!" Dad's voice drifts through the wall, tinny from the vibration of the metal between them. "That you?"

"Home, Dad," she calls back, the generator kicking in with a grunt of disagreement. She kicks it in irritation even as it jerks itself to life, the interior of the oven instantly hot. Flesh sizzles when her fingers slip, the tips touching the rack as she slides the pan with steaks inside. Didi hisses softly, sucking at the singed spots, slamming the oven door.

"Dinner?" He sounds plaintive, boyish.

"Coming." Didi sighs, eyes Pip who clacks his beak at her. "We have time," she says, scooping up the feathered cyborg and carrying him toward the other door in the kitchen. The narrow hall on the far side feels oppressive to her at times, mostly because she hasn't made replacing the glowtubes in the ceiling a priority. Every time one goes out, she adds scavenging more to her list, but somehow it always ends up on the bottom. Her boots hum against the fake wood floor, made to replicate natural veining but always looking flat and dull to her. The wall panels are the same color, adding to the closing in feeling she gets. She pushes through the swinging door first on the right and into her own workshop.

She found this particular bubble of awesome herself, about a year ago, and convinced Tortley from three territories over to trade her a transport of the unit for a fix of his favorite skimmer. Dad hated it when she showed off her skills to the other squatters, but the trade was worth it, in her estimation. It had to have been some kind of expensive sunroom or greenhouse in the past, a piece of a rich family's place. She adored the pale green plasglass, unbreakable but breathable, containing its own filter system. Tubes of fleximinum formed the curved shell's frame, carrying the power and water supply like its own ecosystem. The air inside is so fresh she takes a huge breath, loving how it makes her feel alive, even after the day she's had. She's acutely aware of how badly she smells as she does, grimacing while she crosses to the large, metal table in the center of the room and clamps the protesting Pip into the large vice protruding from her work surface.

A quick glance at the pot of green on the far side of the room and she makes a decision to add some peas and lettuce to dinner. She has some spices she traded with Putter a few weeks ago for a handful of her peppers. More mouthwatering as she harvests her precious greens.

"If you don't mind," Pip's chill tone makes her laugh as she turns, the succulent morsels of freshness tucked into a small pouch she carries back to him. He's on his side, awkwardly posed, unable to move as the magnetized clamp holds his metal body in place. "Honestly, Didi."

"A bit of patience, bird." She strokes his feathers a moment. He mutters before closing his eyes, a soft purr emerging. "Your right leg is still a disaster."

He holds still as she retrieves some tools, finally able to straighten him out. It will take his organics time to cover the wound, but at least she's managed to shut down his nerve centers so he doesn't feel pain.

Her task done, she releases him from the vice. Pip stands, shakes, examines his leg.

"You're welcome." She tosses her black hair at him before scooping up her greens and heading for the kitchen. Pip wings after her, muttering to himself.

Dad is bent over in half, staring into the open oven when she enters. He glances up, smiles at her past his round-rimmed glasses. "Smells great."

She rolls her eyes, slamming the door on him. "House is hot enough."

Dad grins, shrugs his narrow shoulders, pushing one long fingered hand through his brown hair. He's so nondescript, so ordinary. But he's hers. Didi tosses the bag of greens on the counter, has to slap his fingers from stealing a pea pod. Pip snags one, flies off with it, hooting laughter while Didi shakes her head at the both of them.

"Good day?" Dad helps her retrieve plates, cutlery. She's proud of the set he scrounged for her, all matching even though most are chipped and the metal is faintly rusting. Proper table settings, even old and tired ones, make her happy for some reason.

"Good enough." Her luck he doesn't know the time, isn't aware after all she's been out so long. She licks juice from the greens from her fingers as she shreds them and piles them on the sides of the plates, sticking her tongue out at the crow who hops in agitation from leg to leg. Dad's already fetching the steaks, a steaming, dripping slab appearing at the end of his fork. She taps the release on the stool tucked under the table and settles in, not even bothering to criticize when Dad begins shoveling food into his mouth.

She's doing the same thing.

Pip flutters over and, though she swore she'd not share after the day he put her through, she divides up her portion and offers him bites between her own.

Dad straightens from hunching over his plate, gaze settling on Pip's damaged leg. "What happened?"

Didi's no tattle, though Dad is aware the silly corbie tends to take off from time to time. Pip, on the other hand, can't keep his fool beak shut.

"Your daughter," the ratting bird says before she can stop him, "has been out beyond territory again, Tarvis."

Dad winces, turns to Didi who glares at Pip. Yes, removing his voice box for a little while is an excellent idea.

"You know how I feel about that, Deeds." Dad's quiet, not angry. He's rarely angry. More scared and she knows why. It's dangerous out there.

"And you know if I didn't we wouldn't have half the things we do." She meets Dad's eyes with her own level gaze. "That spool of silverwire you needed for your invention. Think that came out of thin air?" Well, it did, she remembers. When it fell off the back of the dumpall.

Dad hesitates. "Is that where you were all day?"

She's not about to turn in the damned bird, though she should. "How's your steak?"

Pip tuts around a crunchy bit of peapod he's stolen from her plate. "Tell him about the trash rats, Didi. And your run-in with Jackus." Dad chokes on his sip of water, eyes huge behind his glasses while Didi's chest tightens, fists clenched around her cutlery. Maybe she'll just disassemble the farging bird. Make an entirely new-faithful-creature from the old. Or, maybe she'll dump his feathered behind in the sludge creek. "Oh, and the gunslingers."

Her turn to choke. "Pip!" She can't help it. How dare he share that with Dad? It's their secret.

Dad's anxiety rises visibly on his face. "You found gunslingers?"

Didi is forced to nod, though she keeps her voice steady and calm, a miracle in her estimation. "A whole cargo hold of them, Dad. Someone dumped them here."

Dad nods, head down, food forgotten, it seems, as he goes still. "How horrible."

Didi agrees, though he seems to be taking it personally. "Why horrible? They aren't active or anything." Not that she could tell, anyway.

Dad sits back, pushing his glasses up on his nose, arms crossing over his chest. His long-sleeved shirt rides up his narrow forearms, the rolls of the cuff hanging softly aside, exposing faint scars on his pale skin. She's often wondered what happened to him, where the scars came from. But Dad won't talk about it and it's easier not to ask. "Horrible," he says, "because they were people once, Didi." He looks off in the distance. "Like you and me. Hurt, beyond repair under normal circumstances, placed in metal bodies and turned into soldiers." Dad shudders, running his hands over his arms. Didi's heart constricts but she doesn't know why. "Just seems a tragedy for them to end up in a place like this." Their home. Dad often speaks of Trash Heaven like it's more hell than heaven. But despite its faults, it's all Didi knows. Protectiveness rises inside her, the need to defend her planet. Except he's right.

It's just a pile of trash.

"I never thought gunslingers would end up here." Dad pushes his plate away. Pip hops closer, helps himself, the greedy guts. Didi doesn't try to stop him. Waste not, want not. "But, I guess even their usefulness comes to an end eventually."

"They were decommed over fifty years ago." Pip pauses in his gulping. "What's the big deal?"

"They were meant to be disposed of like real people," Dad says, almost whispers. "Not tossed like garbage." He stands before Didi can ask him how he knows. Dad knows a lot of things he won't talk about. "I need to get back to work." He leaves her there, head down, hands in his pockets. Only stops and pauses when he reaches his lab's door. When he turns back, his smile is kind and, like always when he takes the time to truly see her, Didi's heart warms up so much she hugs herself from the joy of it. "Thanks for dinner."

***