Page 39 of Tattle Tail
“The original system, actually,” Joseph said. “The ruined one was installed to meet Corravian regulations.”
“Backup systems should switch on automatically.”
“This one is manual.” He removed another panel.
Soon, the entire inner workings of the wall were exposed. Nothing appeared amiss.
“Tanks? That is very primitive,” she said.
“I think you mean time-honored.”
“If you mean explosive, then yes.” Tanks. Of all the ways to create a breathable atmosphere, that was as safe as playing with matches.
“That hardly ever happens.” He took a rag and cleaned the nozzles on the tanks.
“It happened enough that a warning label is required. Canisters leak and they are susceptible to corrosion.”
“Yeah, humanity has made it all the way across the stars because our ships and stations keepexploding. It’s safe,” he said. Then added, “Besides, the air smells better.”
“Nostalgia weakens your argument. The atmospheric components are the same as those derived from a molecular conversion. Any improvement to the air quality you perceive is purely in your head,” she said.
As she spoke, he attached hoses to the tanks and turned knobs. He said, “Static builds up and has to be discharged.”
“That is true of any electronic component. You simply prefer what is sentimental and familiar. Do not act as if it is a superior system.”
“Peaceable…” Joseph pivoted on his knees to face her. His dark eyes were wide and, for once, serious.
She had gone too far. She should apologize, even if the science supported her position, but his preference for an antiquated system did not matter. It was only her need to be right that kept her arguing.
Only?
The enjoyment she got from bantering with him was deeper than a need to be right. The push-pull between them delighted her; their verbal sparring fits went together like cogs in a larger machine. Joseph never talked down to her. He treated her not like an equal, but as an adversary. It wasn’t sophisticated and her mother would be mortified to know, but Peaceable relished being Joseph’s nemesis.
The hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. She responded in kind, her tail sweeping the floor. He placed a hand behind her head and drew them close enough to rest his forehead against hers.
“Just so you know,” he said, “I want to kiss the ever-loving fuck out of you right now.”
“I do not understand you.” The dank odor of fever sweats clung to her, and her skin crawled with the need for a long, hot shower. She wasn’t even dressed properly, having risen directly from her sick bed to criticize him. Since she woke, the only things out of her mouth had been cutting remarks. Yet he smiled, like listening to her list the faults of his ship’s antiquated atmospheric system was a delight.
“Well, you’ve been sick.”
“Not that, but your consideration is appreciated. I’ve been rude to you when you’ve only been kind to me,” she said.
He released her and rocked back onto his heels. “I can’t believe I have to repeat myself, but you’ve been sick.”
“Joseph, I am serious.”
“I like that you’re a little prickly.”
“I am not prickly,” she said defensively. She tried so hard to maintain a placid front, always calm and cool. Something about Joseph, though, got on her tail and made her claws come out.
“With anyone else? No. It’s just with me, and I dig it.”
He dug it.
For some reason she couldn’t explain, Peaceable was unable to hold his gaze. She turned her attention back to the canisters and the tangle of hoses. “Regardless, thank you for your assistance while I was ill,” she mumbled.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I come from a long line of meddling do-gooders,” he said, no longer looking in her direction. He twisted knobs and pulled levers. “We can’t help ourselves. My mother has this vile camphor salve that sheinsistson slathering all over if you get the sniffles. It stinks, and it doesn’t really dry, so it just sticks to your shirt and your chest.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “You lucked out with reconstituted orange juice and chicken noodle soup. Lucky.”
