Editing Gift

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<span style="color:#800000">''' ''[With thanks to Jay for RPing this conversation with me--Maer]'' '''</span>
<br><br><br>

An excerpt from ''Peripatetica'', by M. K. Sebastien, Engr. ret.<br><br><br>



'''Sunday, 09 Apr 2519'''<br>
'''Kuiper II Class, ''Summer’s Gift'' '''<br>
'''En Route to Boros'''<br>
'''16:25 hrs, ships time'''<br>

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Boros was still four hours away when I decided it was time.  Christian had taken to his bed due to his injuries from Perdido, so I checked his quarters first.  Knocking on his door revealed the man wasn’t there, so I took the stairs down to the other place I knew he’d likely be--the luxury suite he’d converted to his working space. As a fully reinstated Companion, he’d need a place separate from his quarters to entertain his clients and I knew the job wasn’t quite finished. <br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I came off the bottom tread and heard the unmistakable sound of a nail gun firing. Sticking my head inside the open container door, I saw Christian on a chair, installing fabric clips into the bulkhead surface. I watched a moment as he treaded a clip onto the nail protruding from the gun, put the gun to the bulkhead and press the trigger.<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;''Sprack!''<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“You’ve got a power conduit coming up about 18 inches to your right,” I warned him as he threaded on another clip. “I can mark it off on the bulkhead if you like.”<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Hello, Rina,” Christian said, glancing back over his shoulder for a moment before continuing.  The next nail was primed and then fired. “Thank you, I’d appreciate that. The last thing I want to do is electrocute myself.”<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“True. I’d miss your cooking and cleaning you up off the walls would be a bitch.”<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I stepped inside and pulled a small package out from under my arm. It was exquisitely wrapped in ornate fabric in the Japanese fashion and tied with decorative cord.<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Here.  I got you a little something.”<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Christian stepped down off the chair and examined his handwork. There was an art to doing this, I knew. The nails have to be placed close enough to hold the fabric up firmly, but far enough apart to allow the cloth to drape artistically. Christian turned from his work, set the nail gun down on the floor—safety engaged—and said, “You didn’t need to.”<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“No, I needed to.” I held it out on my palms like a platter. “Sometimes, it’s the only thing that answers.” <br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Christian settled down on the bed. The model was an unexpected marriage of Eastern and Western styles. Thicker and more luxurious than the Eastern, but on the floor without a frame.  You had to give it to him:  as a decorator, the man had a knack.<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Thank you,” he said graciously. No need to argue. He opened the package, unwrapping the fabric with care.<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I settled on a floor pillow and watched, sitting on my hands and trying not to fidget. It took some time to find just what I had in mind and selecting the fabric and the cord took yet more. Despite crewing with the man for nearly a year, I was painfully aware that I really hadn’t any clue as to his tastes when working...and so I bit my lip and tried not to ruin it for him now as he unwrapped the gift.<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Christian undid the last fold and smoothed the fabric across his lap, looking down at the gift itself. Nestled in the fabric was an intricately carved teakwood box with brass fittings. Light gleamed on the polished grain of it as Christian raised the lid. Inside lay a porcelain tea set for two, eggshell thin and translucent, with only the faintest of slip tracery along the cup rims and teapot belly. Red silk lined the box and the creamy porcelain took on a faint rosy hue.<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Christian smiled.<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Thank you.  This is lovely,” he said as he ran his fingers lightly along the curve of the china cups.<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“You’re welcome,” I said, relaxing in relief. “I never did get to thank you for what you did for me earlier.” ''For hearing me out'', I didn’t say.  ''When I was hurting''.<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That brought his head up.<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“We’re crew, Rina. We take care of each other. I don’t need a thank you.”<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“You’re missing the point.”  I shook my head and put a hand on his knee.  “You didn’t need a thank you, no, but I needed to give it. As a Companion, you know the value of expression, whether it’s affection or gratitude. This is both.”<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Christian smiled again and I was glad to see he understood.<br>  
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“We all do our part,” he said to me then.  “You keep us alive just by keeping the ship operating. Thank you for that.”<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“You’re welcome, and trust me,” I said, rising. “Mine’s the easier job. I could always make something from scratch if the engine needed it. I can’t make another you.”<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Christian laughed and rose to his feet. The tea set and the lovely box he left on the bed, well away from the edge, for now. “We’ll have tea tonight,” he promised. “In the lounge.”<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I’ll be there.” I pulled a grease pencil from my sleeve holster. “Let me mark off that power conduit before I leave.”<br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I cast about for a chair and finding one, pulled it to the bulkhead. “There’s times when I really hate being short. Okay...this is the junction box, and this is the trunk line running off it…” <br>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I put the pencil to the metal and drew it out for him.

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