[Advisory: Audit Window — 00:11]
Outside, somewhere in the ductwork, a whisper of grit moved like a message getting its courage together.
Jace didn't lie down. The cot would grab and not give back. He rolled his shoulders, set the field roll where his hand could find it blind, checked the latch a second time—habit dressed as safety.
He cracked the drawer, looked at the vials without touching, shut it on purpose. Canvas hummocks at the bench edge waited—longblade, shotgun—promises that could keep if he did.
The pane obliged with only the next truth.
[Escort Confirmed: South Run Relay — 0615][Environment Forecast: Weather break 0615–0645 | Fallout squall 0700–0830]
"On the hole," he said. On the hole or not at all.
He packed for outside: filter mask, goggles, meter, jumper leads, rubber sheet, two gland seals, a strip of foil, a tiny RC snubber he'd soldered last winter, self-fusing tape, hose clamps, paracord, hand wrench, and a prayer he didn't intend to use. Gloves—right one on with teeth. The tremor was a wire, not a whip. Level two sat in his bones like a brace that didn't brag.
Lamp off. Chain; latch. Corridor.
The vault at that hour made the sound of machines choosing to be kind. At the sally port the window clerk lifted her eyes to his mask, then to the envelope in his roll. "Mechanic," she said through the grill. "They're early."
"Good. Being early is like being honest."
A3 waited by the inner door with two more in gray—tall and narrow with a coil carbine, short and watchful with a bag that could be a med kit or sins. Pale eyes took inventory and found enough.
"You look awake," A3 said.
"I'm faking it so well it might be true."
[Departure Window: 06:15 — 00:02]
"We run the gutter, not the ridge," A3 said, passing masks. "Wind's shouldering east. Stay in my wake."
"After you."
Cycle: inner shutter up; small chamber; the taste of dust; outer shutter lifting to a slit of gray and a spitting of grit.
[Departure Window: 06:15 — 00:00][Advisory: Minimize seam exposure]
They stepped into Ruinworld.
Grit rolled like water until you stepped and learned it was knives. The sky had the color of metal that remembered fire. Jace put boots where A3 put boots. The tall one ghosted left; the short one watched angles the way medics do when the world punishes mistakes.
The relay lived a hundred meters down the south run, on a low pedestal half-swallowed by drifts. The hood wore a gasket that had decided last season to be decorative. The north conduit gland had split, neat crack where the sun got it when squalls didn't. A stub of desiccant peered from a housing that had been home to moisture first and electronics second.
"Ghost motion?" Jace said, kneeling. "Any other lies?"
"Door twitches when there's nothing to love," A3 said. "Ignored a patrol last week for four seconds. We filed that under failure and luck."
"Luck is a lazy archivist." Jace set the roll open and reseated his mask. "Log."
[Task Registered: Field Repair — South Run Relay][Difficulty Rating: Hazardous]
Power off at the cutoff. Hood up. Wet dust smell. Moisture had written its name on the faceplate and walked away. The board wore fine silt making capacitance where it shouldn't. At the terminal block, two conductors had fretted into a romance; a metal whisker bridged what it wasn't invited to.
"There you are," he said. "Bad gasket, bad gland, water makes ghosts, whisker makes a choir."
He broke the whisker with a touch, pulled the block, cleaned with the small brush, scraped green from copper, cut the cracked gland and binned it. Rubber sheet over the board to keep fallout grit from voting.
Wind shouldered the box; the tall one set a palm on the hood and became a clamp. The short one scanned horizon; A3 read the grit for time.
New gland in—softer compound. Paracord burned and belled, conduit tied where it wanted to wander. Gasket cut from rubber strip; corners true. Foil patch grounded to the chassis with a hose clamp; sometimes a Faraday was a prayer that worked.
One new lead soldered; hands steady enough the heat only made a joint, not a problem. Level two's attribute bump wasn't magic; it was one more second before shakes became error.
Reassemble. Peel the rubber sheet and stow it.
"Power," he said. A3 gave the cutoff the attention it deserved.
LEDs came up awkward, then found rhythm. Jace put meter leads to ground and signal and watched numbers decide to be what they were supposed to be.
[Repair in Progress][Gain: Mechanic XP +10][Gain: Basic Mechanical Repair XP +10]
He still didn't trust it. Trust arrives after repeated boredom. He triggered sensor test with a magnet and waved A3 out of frame. The relay saw him when he wanted; it forgot him when asked. It didn't see what wasn't there when he showed it empty world.
He added the tiny RC snubber across the line that loved to ring, wrapped it in self-fusing tape, zip-tied the bundle, and wrote the values inside the hood with a paint marker: 0.1µF/1kΩ. Tell Future Me what Past Me did.
He checked gland bite; honest. Taped a cheap rain edge over the lip. Closed and latched.
"Cycle."
The tall one keyed the hand unit. Down the run, a panel light answered. The world didn't move except where it should. They did it twice more because one is luck, two coincidence, three work.
[Repair Completed][Gain: Mechanic XP +15][Gain: Basic Mechanical Repair XP +15]
The pane tapped the table: there you are.
[Mechanic (lv2: 155/2000)]
"Better?" A3 asked.
"Better," Jace said. "Smart box says the world is only what it is. If it forgets again, something real persuaded it."
"Let's assume persuasion is expensive."
He scuffed grit off the base to keep it from piling into a trap and bagged the old gland because trash that travels tells stories to the wrong ears.
The pane listened with him.
[Environment Advisory: Weather break — 00:08][Forecast: Gust front ahead of squall; expect crosswind on return]
"Back on the hole," he said.
They moved the way they came. The wind had turned a shoulder. Gutter line closer to the east drift; grit came low and fast like ground fog with a grievance. They paused, let the worst speak and pass, walked again. The sally port was a darker gray in the gray. The clerk had the cycle cued; she watched shapes converge like a woman reluctant to believe math. Jace counted ten steps out loud because sometimes the body likes numbers to hook its feet to.
"Now," A3 said. The shutter rose. They ducked under. Outer down, inner up; the vault's breath met them like warm cloth.
Jace stripped the mask, coughed grit, wiped goggles.
"Log?" the clerk asked, eyes on the envelope.
"Log."
[Field Repair: South Run Relay — Verified][Nightfall Escort: A3, two][Notes: Replaced north gland; cut gasket; cleaned terminal block; removed tin whisker; added RC snubber; taped rain edge; values inside hood.]
A3's mouth did that almost-smile and left it for later. "Payment's on the paper," he said. "Outer lane's quiet for an hour. Inside isn't."
"The inside never is." Jace looked to the pane for a lie; it offered truth.
[Mechanic (lv2: 155/2000)][Scheduled: Chain Replacement — 0900–1100][Optional: Verify project milestones before maintenance window?]
"Yeah. I'll check teeth before I take them to meet the chain."
A3 tapped the counter. "Door thanks you," he told the clerk—trying a joke—then to Jace: "We'll knock if the box lies again."
"Don't shout."
He made the walk back to the bench the way he'd left: center of each step; count of each door; no wasted movement.
Canvas back. Longblade bar teeth bright where grit had polished instead of chewed. Shotgun ring marks honest in morning light. Lamp on; circle of simple.
The pane posted a line he didn't expect and exactly needed.
[Advisory: Nightfall message waiting — Admin Office][Subject: Chain replacement]
"Of course," he told the lamp. They want a schedule to be a leash. He toggled the lamp because petty rituals keep larger ones from owning you.
Chain kit out. Sections laid like bones. One link in fingers, minute rough that said replace me before I tell a story in someone's face. Discard pile started. Decision to be slow made the way you decide to breathe—without heroics.
Knock: clerk-soft, beat, clerk-soft. He kept the door closed.
"Jace." Round-glasses. "Nightfall pushed your chain window forward. They said now. The registrar said don't you dare. I have a message that is both."
The pane timed the vault's breath and showed the wedge he'd have to live in.
[Advisory: Conflicting Orders — Maintenance vs. Priority][Decision Required: Hold window (Admin) or advance (Nightfall)]
He put the link down like it might explode.
"Read me the exact words," he said.
Round-glasses did. The words were tidy; the meanings messy; the vault loved sentences that pretended to serve two masters and served neither.
Jace looked at bench, projects, door that had decided to be a door, and pane that preferred honesty.
"Tell them this," he said, letting the decision land with weight. "Door integrity is safety-critical. I hold my window. If Nightfall wants the chain now, they bring me a chain."
The hall went quiet the way a room does when paper hears backtalk.
Round-glasses breathed a small sound that might have been a laugh if it had more food. "I'll write it," she said. "And I'll duck."
The pane didn't clap. It did better.
[Acknowledged][Mechanic (lv2: 155/2000)]
The bench waited. The chain waited. The vault did not. Morning got teeth, like it always did.