He put the choke in, and it started on the second pull. “Now leave it running for a bit before we plug it in.”
And then . . . there was light. A sunrise is a joyous thing, but Chip hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed the normalcy symbolized by an ordinary incandescent globe. Once long ago—in a life that seemed to have belonged to someone else—it had been something so . . . accepted. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.
“Right . . . weld first, I think.” His voice was a bit thick.
“It’s just so lovely to see the light,” whispered Virginia.
Chip felt a twang of sympathy, surprised at the common ground between them. But all he said was “Don’t look at the arc light,” as he slipped the welding mask over his face. He spoke with a confidence he was far from feeling. True, “Armpits” Jones had showed him how it should be done. Armpits had even let him try. He felt himself blush and was glad of the mask.
“I’m going to try to muffle the sound from the generator,” she said.
“Fine.” Chip was concentrating on working out the best approach to the welding job. He tapped the rod against the metal. The rod sparked actinic arc light, hissed and . . .
Stuck. Welding hadn’t miraculously gotten easier in the intervening years.
* * *
“Well, let’s get on to the drilling then,” said Nym professionally, rubbing his paws. “Come on, Pistol. You hold that short piece of steel in place. I’ll pull the handle down.”
The one-eyed rat looked at the drill press nervously. “I’d liefer wait for Chip.”
Nym looked at him with scorn. “Stop blithering, rat. It’s a basic piece of machinery, for goodness sake. I pull that lever down. The drill comes down. What could be simpler?”
“Get Fal to hold it,” suggested Pistol.
Nym’s icy gaze would have withered polar lichen. “Tch. He can hold your hand if you like.”
Even Pistol wasn’t proof against that. “No, if you’re sure . . .”
“Well, we’ll do those small pieces first,” Nym condescended. “Start with the easiest.”
He started the drill. Virginia tried to hold the second mattress wrapped around the generator with two hands, while she tried to tie it in place with a third and a fourth hand she didn’t have.
The big rat hauled at the press handle. “Whoreson! This bedamned lever is stiff.” He threw his giant-rat weight and strength into the project.
The high-speed drill bit came down fast, and bit into the mild steel. The piece of steel proved an efficient transmitter of torque.
What followed was the first airborne rat-strike in history. A process that went something like—
“AAAAAHHHH!!!!”
THUD. Fortunately, Pistol hit Virginia’s mattress and rolled to the floor unhurt, still clinging to the steel section. He was paralyzed with fear and shock.
Well . . . except for his mouth.
“YOU FUGGING BACONFED WHORESON RATCATCHER!”
Virginia stood there, wide-eared with amazement, while Pistol shredded Nym’s character and morals, etc. etc., unto the fifteenth generation back. He was working on the sixteenth when he stopped abruptly.
The mattress, alas, had caught fire.
* * *
Stamping on it was ineffectual. Oil had seeped into the mattress, and it burned even though it was still partly wet. The workshop was a hell’s-cauldron of smoke, steam and little dancing flames. Virginia bolted from the Dante-esque scene.
Chip cursed her under his breath as he stamped on the mattress. Just like a fucking worthless Shareholder bitch to run!
She was back an instant later, armed with a fire extinguisher.
* * *
Some time later, the place still was acrid with burned mattress and the ozone smell of welding. Virginia gazed admiringly at the hitch-wishbone. “You’re brilliant!”
It really wasn’t a bad piece of “hedgehog” welding. There weren’t more than seven stuck welding rods cut off with side cutters. There were even a couple of really nice spot-welds. Chip had skilled hands and exceptionally fine motor control, as befits a master chef. Still, you don’t learn to weld very well in ten minutes.
“Hey, Chip! Is this thing supposed to come off again?” Nym wrestled with the C-clamp. “Because I need it for the drilling.”