Mech Pilot who sends you a short wave message before retreat: “this ain’t over -”
"Went into town yesterday," Vin says casually over the radio.
They're up over the Blueline ridge, doing a line of sonar thumpers and following up with ground radar on anything that don't look naturally occurring, spotting for each other as they inch the mechs down slopes of scree. The kind of comfortable, methodical work that don't need any extra conversation, in a long friendship that don't, either.
Andi grunts.
"Pat's got a twofer on that hydraulic fluid additive, so I picked some up. Remind me to bring the spare drum over for you."
"Sure."
Vin's waiting to see if she says something. Andi can hear her doing that. She presses her lips into a thin line.
"Ran into Bill from the mech yard while I was down there," Vin says.
"Uh-huh."
Another wait.
"Says you asked him about selling up Church for a ticket offworld," Vin says finally, and Andi, knowing that must be what was coming, still flushes with hot, angry, crawling shame.
"People talk too much," she says sharply. "And I didn't ask about it. I was discussin' a hypothetical."
"This has always been the both of us," Vin says. "Just discussin' walking away and selling up and jetting off without a word to me, was it?"
"Fuck you, it wasn't — it wasn't like that," Andi says hoarsely.
"He says you said you're gettin' too old for this shit. He says you got sniffly," Vin says, which is just — just fuckin' uncalled-for.
"I was tired." Tears prickle hotly. "I was tired and I was feelin' low, what do you want me to say?"
"I dunno." Vin sounds pretty calm, all things considered. "Anything? Anything would be good, so I don't gotta get blindsided by fuckin' Used-Cars Bill."
Andi puts the mech's foot down slightly less carefully than she should, and a rock turns over under it as Church's weight bears down, and then they're staggering sideways over sliding scree, and Andi's getting panicked flashes of Church rolling under a tide of stones; the kind of shithead end that people stumble upon the following spring, two bleached mech feet sticking out of a heap of talus; but then Church claws deep and bites stable rock, dips to lower their centre of gravity, and they come to a halt, every leg joint whining.
"Saints, Andi." Vin sounds nearly as shaken as she feels. "You okay?"
Andi opens her mouth to snap that they should stop havin' conversation out on the slopes. "I ain't been okay for weeks," she somehow finds herself saying shakily, instead. "I am too old to be doin' this, on my own."
"You ain't on your own!" Vin's so frustrated that even Fran's arms mirror her little fucksake gesture. "Look, I know everything you think about it, Andi, but it ain't — I haven't done it again. You remember Hacksaw?"
Hacksaw got out of the Fleet around the same time they did, real bad shape, real bad.
"You know how he got into that programme that treats vets with psychedelics, and it turned him around? He'd go on about the feeling of being part of everything and positive energy and open? Like, open to experiences again? Open to people?" Vin pauses. "I think that's — that's how I'm feelin'. Like I never knew how to be close to people, and now my brain's shaken up and I can—"
She stops for long enough for Andi to get worried about it.
"This is just a real sucky time for you to be like this," Vin says finally, in a subdued sort of way.
Andi carefully unlocks one of Church's feet, and pokes around for stable footing. "We ain't talking about this on a damn scree slope," she says in a wobbly way. "Let's go back up and over and call it for the day. Couple of coffees with rum in with our names on, back in my kitchen."
"Andi...." Vin says.
"I'm gonna need the rum," Andi says, "if you wanna talk about it."
"I really wanna talk about it," Vin says quietly.
"Come on, then." Andi blots at her eyes with her sleeve, while Vin still can't see her. "...This ain't over."
