Sidra turned the kit’s head to follow Pepper’s gaze, and found a toolbelt. It was absurdly heavy, overburdened with wrenches and pliers. The thick fabric had been reinforced with rough thread – several times over, it seemed. ‘Yes,’ Sidra said. She handed the belt to Pepper, as requested. ‘Do you mind working here alone?’ she asked.
Pepper shook her head. ‘Nah. Tech is my thing, not Blue’s. He can do it, but it’s not what makes him get up in the morning.’ She grinned. ‘And besides, I don’t work here alone any more.’ She pulled a clean work apron and gloves out of a drawer, then clad herself with them and the clattering toolbelt as she spoke. ‘So. The Rust Bucket is your all-purpose place to get stuff fixed, and we sell refurbished bits and bobs, too. I have only a few rules.’ She raised a gloved finger. ‘Number one: no military-grade weapons or explosives. If you’re a livestock farmer, or you’re headed to Cricket or something, and you need your slug rifle fixed, sure, I can do that. You throw down some Aeluon-wannabe blaster, get the fuck out. If you’re not a soldier, you don’t need that shit.’
Sidra recorded every word. ‘What if you are a soldier?’
‘If you are a soldier, I am the last person you’d come to with weapon problems. Unless your military has massive organisational issues, I guess. I will do basic tools of self defence, not murder gear.’ She raised a second finger. ‘Rule number two: no biotech. Not my area of expertise. If someone wants their mods tweaked, I’ve got a good list of clinics I can refer them to. Safe, trustworthy places. You get anybody asking about implant or mod stuff, come get me, and I’ll point them in the right direction. No nanobots, either, even if they’re not bio. It’s not my thing, and I don’t have the right equipment. Rule number three: somebody brings in anything with magnets, they damn well better tell us up front so I can store it properly. Anybody who doesn’t gets to compensate me for whatever got fried. Fourth rule: whatever they bring in has to be able to fit behind the counter. I will do bigger jobs outside of the shop, but that’s on a case-by-case basis. I don’t do that for everybody, so don’t mention it to people. Just come get me and I’ll decide if it’s worth my time. Other than that . . .’ She pursed her lips in thought. ‘I’ll take just about anything.’ She drummed her fingers on the counter. ‘My pricing is . . . variable. Whatever it says on the package, or whatever I promised. Between you and me, I really don’t care how much things cost. As long as I have food in my belly and can buy dumb stuff to decorate my house with, it doesn’t matter whether people are paying me the same amount every time. I work within budgets, and trade is every bit as welcome as credits. More so, even.’ She lifted her foot. ‘I got these boots for free because I fixed a clothing merchant’s patch scanner. I’ve got a doctor who upgrades me and Blue’s imubots every standard in exchange for random fix-it jobs whenever he wants. And I’ve got a lifetime half-off discount at Captain Smacky’s Snack Fest, because I did a same-day rush job on their grill.’ She shrugged. ‘Credits are imaginary. I’ll accept them because we’ve collectively decided that’s how we do things, but I prefer doing business in a tangible way. Don’t worry, though – you’ll get paid in credits. Cleaner that way.’
Sidra had forgotten about that part. ‘Oh. Right.’
‘You’ll get a cut from the shop’s monthly profits. Haven’t worked out how much yet, but I promise it’ll be fair. And that’s separate from room and board. You having a roof over your head is not contingent on you working here, so if you want to go do something else, that’s fine. You’re not indentured, okay? At the end of every couple tendays, we’ll divvy things up, and I’ll transfer—’ She snapped her fingers. The sound fell flat through the gloves. ‘We need to set you up with a bank account. Don’t worry, I know someone who can fix that for us. Works for the GC, but she’s good people. Does not mind turning a blind eye if you don’t have the right formwork, and does not ask a lot of questions. Also has an amazing collection of antique Harmagian ground carts that she uses at parties. Early colonial era, really gorgeous craftsmanship. I’ll drop her a note.’
Sidra set aside the shop rules file and created another: my job. ‘So what will I be doing?’
‘Since Blue isn’t here any more, I need someone to be an extra pair of eyes and hands. I’m thinking you’ll be wherever I’m not. If I’m doing something big and noisy in the back, you’ll be up front, greeting folks, handing over finished stuff, selling packaged things that don’t need my input. If I’m up front, you can clean up in the back. If there’s an errand that needs doing, you can go out and about, or I can go out and do my thing, and you can hold down the fort.’ She cocked her head. ‘How does that sound, for starters?’
Sidra processed that. In some ways, it wasn’t so different from her intended purpose. She’d be monitoring the safety of the shop and responding to requests. She’d perform tasks as directed. She’d be Pepper’s eyes where she couldn’t see. ‘I can do that.’