M.S. Davidson
patreon
RVR1|Chapter 24: Rivera's Repairs
🕑 Added 2025-11-15 23:01:51 +0000 UTCTess crouched beside the capacitor bank, her fingers hovering just above the crystalline substrate without quite touching it.
She’d been staring at it for twenty minutes, trying to understand how something this elegant could exist in a city that was held together with friction tape and prayer.
The [ANALYZE] patterns bloomed in her vision.
CAPACITOR_BANK_CT-8800 {
designation: “HIGH_CAPACITY_AETHER_STORAGE”
loot_seed: 0xC8800D4F
skill_patterns: [
{name: “[ENERGY_STORAGE]”, TECH_required: 5, status: FUNCTIONAL},
{name: “[FLOW_REGULATION]”, TECH_required: 5, status: FUNCTIONAL},
{name: “[THERMAL_MANAGEMENT]”, TECH_required: 3, status: FUNCTIONAL}
]
hardware_status: PRISTINE
storage_capacity: 4.2 AW
current_charge: 4.2 AW (FULL)
}
TECH 5.
She was TECH 4. So close. One more level and she’d be able to interface with [ENERGY_STORAGE] and [FLOW_REGULATION], see how they worked, understand the architecture well enough to maybe—maybe—figure out how to replicate them.
Except she’d need skill crystals. And where did you even get those? The dungeon, obviously. Delvers pulled them out of loot and sold them to merchants like Vera for obscene amounts of money. But could you buy them outright? Did Vera stock them? Would they cost more than Tess could make with repairs?
She leaned closer and activated [INTERFACE], touching the edge of the capacitor’s housing.
The skill trees unfurled in her mind. [THERMAL_MANAGEMENT] was accessible—she could see its nested structure, the way it regulated heat dispersion across the substrate. Clean. Efficient. Beautiful.
But [ENERGY_STORAGE] and [FLOW_REGULATION] were locked behind a TECH requirement she didn’t have yet. The patterns were there, visible but untouchable, like looking at code through frosted glass.
“Come on,” she muttered. “One more level.”
BEE: You are close. Sixty-eight percent progress toward Level 5, according to your interface metadata.
“I know.” Tess pulled her hand back and stood. “I just wish I knew how these worked. If I could figure out how to make them—”
BEE: You would solve many of the city’s power problems without relying on dungeon repairs.
“Yeah.”
**BEE: That is a worthy goal. Though I find myself feeling disappointment.
Tess smiled. “I’d still fix the dungeon, Bee. But I’m just thinking about what to do in the short term.”
BEE: I appreciate that.
She turned away from the capacitor and wiped her hands on her pants. The freighter’s hold felt warmer today. Brighter. Marcus had been running the environmental systems at full capacity for the first time in years, and it was noticeable. The freighter had no cold spots, and the humidity of the recycled air was manageable.
It felt like home.
From the corridor behind her, she heard footsteps.
Marcus appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the light from the main hold. He was holding something wrapped in old canvas, cradled carefully in both hands.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” Tess straightened. “What’s that?”
Marcus hesitated. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes were glossy. He crossed the hold and set the bundle down on the workbench.
“I’ve been holding onto this for a long time,” he said. His voice was steady, controlled. “Wasn’t ready to look at it. But I think… I think it’s time.”
He unwrapped the canvas slowly, folding it back with deliberate care.
Underneath was a sign.
Polished metal, maybe a meter wide and thirty centimeters tall. The edges were smooth and beveled; the surface engraved with clean lettering:
RIVERA’S REPAIRS
Below the name, in smaller script: No Job Too Small
The letters were inlaid with a faint glow-in-the-dark enamel that gave the whole thing a subtle, warm luminescence.
It was beautiful.
Tess stared at it. “Where did this come from?”
“Your mom.” Marcus’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice even. “She had it made when you were a baby. We were supposed to stop delving. Settle down. Start a repair shop. Help people.” He ran his fingers along the edge of the sign. “After she died, I couldn’t stand to look at it. So I packed it away.”
Tess swallowed. “Dad—”
“You did it, Tess.” Marcus met her eyes, and there was pride there. Deep, unguarded pride. “You built what she wanted. You’re helping people. Fixing things. Making the city better.” His voice cracked slightly. “She’d be so damn proud of you.”
Tess’s throat felt tight. “I didn’t…”
“You did.” Marcus smiled, and it was small but genuine. “This shop is yours. It always was. I just… I needed to see it.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, Marcus cleared his throat and stepped back. “So. Now you get to attach it.”
Tess blinked. “What?”
Marcus walked to the corner of the hold and returned with two welding torches and a pair of masks. He handed one of each to Tess.
“About time you learned how to weld,” he said.
Tess stared at the torch. “Dad, I’ve never welded anything in my life.”
“Then today’s a good day to start.”
Thirty minutes later, Tess had welded a support bar to the workbench, two scraps of plating together at a ninety-degree angle that was definitely not ninety degrees, and accidentally fused a wrench to a piece of scrap metal.
“This is harder than it looks,” she said, flipping up her mask.
Marcus examined her latest attempt—a seam that looked like a drunken spider had crawled across the metal. “You’re overthinking it. Steady hands. Even pressure. Let the torch do the work.”
“I am letting the torch do the work.”
“You’re fighting it.”
Tess scowled and pulled her mask back down. “Fine. One more try.”
She positioned two scrap pieces, ignited the torch, and guided the flame along the seam. Slow. Steady. The metal glowed orange and pooled.
Bee’s voice came through the speakers. “Tess, my databases indicate I have an entry on welding techniques. Would you like me to…”
Tess jumped. The torch jerked sideways, and she accidentally welded the test piece directly to the deck plating.
“Bee!” she yelped, killing the torch.
“Oh. My search returned ERROR: NO RESULTS FOUND. Nevermind.”
Marcus laughed. Actually laughed deep and genuinely, leaning against the bulkhead with his arms crossed.
“It’s not funny,” Tess said.
“It’s a little funny.” he said.
“I was attempting to be helpful.” Bee added.
“You welded a plate to the floor, Bee!” Tess said.
“Technically, you welded the plate to the floor. I merely provided a distraction.”
Marcus grinned. “I like her.”
Tess groaned and pried the test piece off the deck with a crowbar.
***
An hour and a dozen practice seams later, Tess set down her torch and looked at Marcus.
“I’m not ready to weld that thing to the freighter, Dad,” she said. “You do it.”
Marcus shook his head. “You can do it.”
“Dad—”
“Tess.” He met her eyes. “You’re the Repairwoman here. You put the sign up.”
She wanted to argue. Wanted to hand him the torch and let him do it right.
But the look on his face stopped her.
This wasn’t about the sign. It was about legacy, her mother’s dream, Marcus’s pride, and that Tess had somehow turned a dying freighter in a collapsing city into something worth naming.
She picked up the sign.
“Where?” she asked.
Marcus led her to the main loading bay doors—the massive external hatches that opened onto the dock district. He’d been working on the mechanisms for weeks, fixing the corroded hinges and rusted actuators now that they had enough power to run them.
He hit the control panel.
The doors groaned. Then, slowly, they slid open.
Tess hadn’t seen them move in years.
The dock district spilled into view beyond. Cranes and shipping containers and the distant glow of the industrial recyclers filled her view.
Marcus pointed to the space above the doors. “There.”
Tess climbed the exterior ladder with the sign tucked under one arm and her torch clipped to her belt. Marcus followed, carrying the welding masks.
They worked in silence, positioning the sign, checking the alignment, marking the spots for the welds.
Tess pulled on her mask, ignited the torch, and got to work.
The first weld went clean. Smooth bead, even heat, no spatter.
The second one wavered slightly, but she corrected and finished strong.
By the fourth weld, she was confident.
She killed the torch, flipped up her mask, and stepped back.
The sign gleamed against the freighter’s hull, the enamel letters glowing gently in the gray afternoon.
RIVERA’S REPAIRS
No Job Too Small
It was perfect.
Except…
“Dad,” Tess said slowly. “It’s crooked.”
Marcus leaned back and tilted his head, studying the sign. It was clearly tilted to the left.
He shrugged. “I think it adds character.”
“Dad!”
“It’s fine, Tess.”
“It is not fine! It’s—”
“It’s ours,” Marcus said. His voice was quiet, but there was weight behind it. “Crooked or not, it’s ours.”
Tess stared at the sign. Then at her father.
He was smiling. Not the careful, controlled smile from earlier. A real one.
She sighed. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m pragmatic.”
They climbed down the ladder and stood in the plaza, looking up at the sign from the ground.
It really was crooked. But it was also beautiful.
BEE: It is a good name.
Tess smiled. “Yeah, Bee. It is a good name.”
Marcus put a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get inside before someone shows up expecting us to actually fix something.”
“We do actually fix things, Dad.”
“I know. That’s the problem.”
They turned toward the loading bay—and stopped.
Kade was walking up the dock, hands in his pockets, grinning like an idiot.
“Hey!” he called. “The doors are open!” He looked up at the sign and paused, his eyebrow raised. “Why’s the sign crooked?”
Tess groaned.
Marcus laughed.
And somewhere in the freighter’s systems, Bee’s presence hummed with what could only be described as amusement.
Rivera’s Repairs was open for business.
