Page 12 of Double Bind (Cosmic Mates #6)

“How did the birthday surprise go?” Darmaine asked.

“It went,” she said, still glum.

“What happened?”

“The sweater turned out terrible.”

“No, it didn’t! I saw it. It was a great first effort.”

“Exactly. A first effort .” Why didn’t she practice a little first? Try a less ambitious project—like a potholder. “The shoulders were uneven, so one sleeve hung longer than the other.” As soon as he put it on, she’d been aghast. Fortunately, without a mirror, he couldn’t tell how awful it looked. Or maybe un fortunate—he’d left for work this morning wearing it.

“I’m sure he liked it because it came from you,” Darmaine said.

“He did like it,” she admitted. He hadn’t been merely acting nice. He’d gotten choked up. She wished all the more she’d presented him with something better.

“What about the cake?”

“It caught fire!” Overall, nothing had gone the way she’d hoped.

“Oh, no! They left it in the oven too long?”

“They stuck a ginormous torch in the middle of it. I asked for a candle . I guess the cook didn’t understand what Lucento meant.”

“Or maybe my husband misunderstood what you meant.”

She’d thought of that too, except she hadn’t wanted to say so. “Maybe candles don’t exist on Refuge?”

“We have candles. They’re made out of horniger fat.”

Of course they are. What else?

“I’m sorry the birthday surprise turned out less than you’d hoped for. On the other hand, since you said he’d never had a birthday party, he has nothing to compare it to. Maybe he thinks all birthday cakes are supposed to be set on fire.”

Amity laughed. “Then he’s going to be disappointed next year.” Assuming their marriage endured, and there was a next year. She hated to count eggers before they hatched, but the future looked bright. Strong and brusque, Marshall was also vulnerable and sweet, and she was crushing on him in a big way.

“I’ll crochet him another sweater and a matching hat.” He’d insisted he didn’t want another, but she wanted to get it right. Then maybe she’d crochet a sweater for herself and for Faith. I’m going to be an old pro at crocheting. “I know you tried some dyes, but I wish I could research possible substances to color fabric and yarn.”

“You don’t have an MCD?”

“No.” Terra Nova didn’t use multi-communication devices, and her tech tab had been left behind, along with everything else she’d owned.

“You can use the terminals at the library in the admin building.”

“Terminals?”

“To access the HyperSphere and the Refuge intranet. Lucento didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“Did that man tell you anything about how things work around here?” Darmaine planted her hands on her hips and shook her head. “The library is our link to outside worlds. Communications are encrypted, so they can’t be traced to Refuge. If you want to research dyeing, I’d appreciate it. It would save me a lot of time.”

I think I got myself a new assignment. “I’d be happy to.”

“For security reasons—not to mention cost—you won’t be able to order dye from another planet and ship it here, but you might get ideas about natural resources to use as coloring agents. All the data about Refuge, its flora and fauna, the minerals and so forth, is on the intranet.” Her lips quirked. “The biggest challenge will be the translation to your own language. Some concepts get lost in translation.”

“Like candle and torch.”

“Exactly.”

They laughed.

Amity looked forward to getting started. It reassured her they weren’t completely isolated on Refuge—not that she’d felt that way. Being married to Marshall, having friends, learning new skills, enjoying her work—how could life get any better?

“I’ll check that out soon. First, I’d better finish weaving the bolt of cloth I’m working on before my boss catches me goofing off.”

“I hear your boss is a real slave driver.” Darmaine smiled. “I’ll let you get started here. I need to dash out on an errand. I won’t be gone long.”

* * * *

Marshall entered the woodshop and hung his coat on the hook.

Bragg hooted. “What are you wearing?”

“The sweater Amity made me for my birthday.”

Bragg wiped the laughter from his face. “It looks great.”

“Beautiful,” said Tailless. Backside bandaged, he’d returned to work.

“Lovely,” said Zhara, the female alien who worked with them.

The shoulders were a tad uneven, and the left sleeve hung longer than the right, but he didn’t care. He loved it. She had made it special for him. Last night had been the best birthday he’d ever had—the only one he’d ever had—but he couldn’t imagine one better.

“What do we have going today?” he asked Chartreuse. More determined than ever to build a sofa for Amity, he hoped to have some free time to get to work on it.

“Tables. What else? Bragg and Zhara will be on the saws. I want you and Tailless to laminate the tabletop strips. We need to get them set. After that, there are still legs to be attached to the finished tabletops.”

Working together, he and Tailless made short work of applying adhesive to wood strips and clamping them together to dry overnight to form the wide tabletop planks. After completing ten of them, they moved to finish the previous project— attaching legs to dried tops.

They’d just gotten started when Marshall felt a gust of frigid air.

Darmaine swept into the shop. “Lucento said you wished to speak to me?”

“Can you handle this by yourself for a few minutes?” he asked Tailless.

“No problem!”

He beckoned to Amity’s boss. “Thanks for coming. Let’s go where it’s a little quieter.” He led the way to the break room, away from the hammering and the whine of the saws. They could still hear the shop noise, but they wouldn’t have to yell.

“The sweater looks good!” she said. “I knew Amity was being too critical of herself.”

“I love the sweater,” he said. “Which is why I’m asking for your help. I want to make her something.”

“Crochet?” Her antennae stood straight up. “I guess I can teach you… I can teach anybody.”

“No, a sofa. I’m going to build her a sofa. I need help with the cushions. I don’t want to ask her because it’s a surprise.” He’d calculated his credits, budgeted for expenses, and determined he would have a modest amount left over for discretionary purchases. “I can pay you to do the cushions. It might have to be on an installment plan.”

“What kind of sofa are you making?”

“Basically, an extra-wide loveseat.” The cabins were small and wouldn’t accommodate anything much bigger. “I’m considering a hard platform base with a solid back or a wooden frame with a rope base and back.”

“Like the beds.” She nodded.

“Yes.”

“Or maybe a hybrid. Platform base, rope back. I need to sketch out some ideas. Do you have time to do the cushions—and avoid letting her know what you’re doing? And how many credits would it cost?”

“Tell you what, I’ll take it out in trade. I’ll do the cushions for your sofa, if you’ll make a sofa frame for me.”

“Deal!” He grinned.

“Get me the measurements, and I’ll get started right away.”

“I’ll sketch out a design and get you the dimensions. I wish there were blueprints or examples I could follow.”

“You might find some on the HyperSphere or even on the Refuge intranet.”

“I don’t have a way to access it.” He’d left his MCD behind on Terra Nova to prevent Dark Ops from tracking him.

“Lucento!” she expelled her husband’s name on a huff. “What else did that man forget to mention! There are terminals in the library for resident use.”

“That’s perfect!” He’d try to get over there this afternoon before meeting Amity for dinner. The sooner he got started, the sooner he could present her with a sofa.

A loud howl pierced the background din.

“What the hell?” He darted out of the break room, Darmaine right behind him.

“My hand! My hand!” Tailless jumped around, holding his wrist. Some of his words sounded like gibberish, and Marshall suspected the curses didn’t have direct translations.

“What happened now?” Chartreuse rushed over.

“I was hammering a peg, and I missed and hit my hand.”

“Let me see!” the foreman demanded, and they all clustered around the injured man.

The alien held out his hand. Two fingers had already begun to swell. They were visibly throbbing. “You smashed ’em good.” Chartreuse sighed.

“My wife is gonna kill me,” Tailless said.

“If she doesn’t, working here will,” Chartreuse said. “Go to the infirmary and see the doc.”

Darmaine opened the door for him, and, clutching his injured hand to his chest, he scurried out.

“Tailless might get a new name—Fat Fingers,” Zhara said.

Marshall and Bragg snorted.

“It’s nothing to joke about,” Chartreuse said, but the corner of his mouth quirked for a second. “The man is a walking accident.” He shook his head. “His wife probably will kill him. She likes it here at Artisan’s Loft. We’re running out of jobs to give him. They transferred in from another settlement. He started here in the mess hall, but he got the meals mixed up and poisoned a whole line of people.”

“I heard about that.” Darmaine nodded. “Food for one is toxic to another.”

“What kind of work did he do at the last village?” Marshall asked.

“I don’t know.” Chartreuse shrugged.

“Lucento said he started out as a horniger wrangler,” Darmaine said.

“Uh-oh.” Marshall shook his head.

“Uh-oh is right. He got trampled twice and gored once. Then he drove a conveyance until he crashed several vehicles. That’s when Haven Ranch transferred him here.”

“Repeated accidents are no accident,” Bragg said.

“He needs a less dangerous assignment,” Chartreuse said. “I can’t in good conscience allow him to work here—he’s a danger to himself and to others.”

“I always need help in the loom studio, but he’d need two hands. Maybe after he gets better. I just hope he doesn’t break the spindles and looms. Or himself. But I guess assigning him is Lucento’s problem,” she said.

“Mine, too,” Chartreuse said. “Removing him from the shop leaves me a worker short, and we have big orders to fill. We’re going to have to produce more, faster. Maybe put in some overtime. We can’t keep the other villages waiting on furniture forever.”

Shit. Now I won’t get a chance to work on the sofa . Thanks a lot, Fat Fingers!

Amity would think his attitude was mean, but Tailless’ carelessness burdened them all. They’d all have more work to do and less time in which to do it. Who knew when Chartreuse would get more help in the shop?

He had a day off coming soon. Maybe I could sneak away for a few hours to work on sofa design? He’d planned to spend the unrushed, unconstructed time with his wife. Either he could spend a little less time with Amity or forget making her a sofa for a while.