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Old Core


It was, as Kara murmured to Win Ton and Chernak, astonishing how quickly a task could be accomplished merely by applying the proper tools.

They had brought the station’s sleds and tools, but had left the remote behind, though they had agreed to wear button cameras, so Bechimo wouldn’t feel left out.

Chief Marsi and her two assistants brought sleds, tools, and come-alongs as well as their sturdy selves. The lower core was cleared in a matter of hours, by which time the upper core had likewise been cleared, the smallest debris and the worst of the dirt gathered and contained by a suction cleaner.

Win Ton found Chief Marsi herself sitting on a folding stool in the center of the upper room, a keyboard across her knees and headphones wrapped around her head.

She looked up as Win Ton approached, tapped a series of keys and pushed the ’phones down around her neck.

“Listenin’,” she said, “to hear if there’s anything else ticking between the walls, or any compartments we might’ve missed.” She shrugged. “Not perfect, but pretty good. Given what we’re dealing with here—it bein’ so old, I mean—we’ll want to have a proper team sweep this thorough. For right now, though, I’ll take a listen here, then go downstairs. If I don’t hear nothin’, then we’re prolly good to leave it an’ seal it.”

“Shall I inform the light keeper of progress and see if there is any other requirement?”

“You do that, an’ find does he want station seals on this, or should we use the work seals we brought.”

Win Ton nodded and went out into the access hall to make the call.

When he returned to give Chief Marsi the news that the light keeper had approved her use of the work seals on the old core until such time as the proper team arrived to purge the space—she had descended to the core below.

He went down the ladder, and found her, not seated on her stool, as he had half expected, but wandering along the walls, fingertips trailing, as if she were reading signs on the surface that were invisible to the eye.

He scuffed his boot on the floor and she started, looking over her shoulder with a wry smile.

“You’re not half quiet are you? What’d the light keeper say?”

“Work seals in place until the arrival of a certified cleaning team,” Win Ton said promptly. “He thanks you for your care and diligence on behalf of the station.”

She grinned and walked toward him, her instrument slung over her back by a strap, and the headphones around her neck.

“Having a real working station in this piece o’space is gonna benefit a lotta folks,” she said, moving past him toward the ladder. “Not just Loopers neither.”

“Indeed, we all have great hopes for the station, once it is—”

Something glimmered in the side of his eye, and he turned, following it to a crack in the floor tiles. Bending, he picked up what seemed to be a stylus, though thicker and heavier. It looked nothing like the debris they had been clearing, and Win Ton frowned, holding it up, and turning it carefully.

“Well, there it is!” Chief Marsi cried, leaning over and sweeping the thing out of his hand. She put it in her side pocket. “My favorite stylus,” she said. “Dropped it and figured it was gone in all this dim. Sharp eyes, eh? Thanks.”

Win Ton hesitated, but what might he say? Accuse the amiable, helpful chief of—what, precisely?

He inclined his head.

“Sharp eyes, yes,” he said, with a smile. “I had been a Scout.”

“Now, ain’t that something,” she said. “I’ll just call my crew in to set those seals.”

She swarmed up the ladder, and Win Ton followed, thoughtful.


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Framed