Ant and Four 17 - Apprentice
by Winter

"Not like that, like this."

Ant took the metal pin out of Niklas's hand, and tilted the toy so he could see where it fit. He poked the clockwork engine, and it came to life. The boy's mouth made an o, as he understood, but he leaned too close. A couple of strands of his long, jet black hair caught in the cogs, and he let out a squeak. Ant stopped the wheels and axles from turning, then took out a wire cutter and unceremoniously freed him. Niklas stared at the hairs left behind, then glared daggers at Ant, who merely shrugged.

"I told you, get a haircut or lean back from anything that's ticking or whirring." Ignoring the boy's protests, Ant picked the clockwork engine apart. There were three strands in all, and Ant held them out with a smile. "Want them back?"

That was it for today's lesson. They only ever lasted as long as Niklas's patience for fiddly things lasted. Or, like now, he got angry with Ant. One second he was sitting there at the oak table, the next he was gone, leaving behind nothing but a string of invectives. And three strands of black hair, which Ant let the mild morning breeze have.

"You should meet up with another friend of mine, Niklas," he said to no one. "You and her could swap some interesting words."

He put the clockwork pig back together, and closed the lid that hid the machinery. Then he fit the key into the hole in its back and cranked it up. The pig started walking round and round on the table, wagging from side to side as if it were about to fall over. It tickled Ant's pounce reflexes, but didn't quite trigger them. Next lesson would be to fit in bellows, to give it its oink. After a minute it began to slow down, until it stopped completely. Lesson after that, he mused, a stronger spring.

"You are so good with him, Anty. Even when he's rude to you, you are kind."

"You know he doesn't have it easy, Mrs B." Ant turned around and smiled at the old woman leaning out of a ground floor window. From inside came the smell of food, and Ant's nose twitched. "Anything he dishes out, I can take it. I just want him to feel safe here."

"No easy feat, my young friend," she chuckled. Ant liked her laugh, and he liked the way the skin around her eyes and mouth formed lines when she smiled. She was the oldest human he had ever come to know, but he still found her pretty, in a way. "Has he been home lately?"

"I don't think so. Not since..." His voice trailed off, and instead he reached up and touched his left cheek. "He was very upset about that."

"Rightly so. Rightly so!" She huffed. "That woman... The town council should have done something long ago, yet they just squabble about this, that and the other. Letting the broken ones break apart even further."

"I've tried to help him. We all have." He made a gesture as if to indicate a large crowd. "He reminds me so much of me, when I was growing up. Full of piss and vinegar and a chip on each shoulder."

"Tiny little feisty Anty." Mrs Brunner cackled this time, not as pleasant a laugh. "Always fighting with the big boys, eh?"

"Always. Better to stand up to the bullies and take a beating, than to show throat and slink away. Even a loser gets respect if he loses well."

"But now, you are so calm and patient. You sit there under the oak, hours upon hours, building your little thingamajigs with their little parts, my old eyes can't see half of them."

"I grew up, Mrs B. And I found..." His voice broke slightly. "I found an eye to my storm. An anchor to ground me and keep me from going off."

"Your little one, yes. You told the story." She sighed. "Mrs B wept, she did. Doesn't happen often."

"You did ask."

"That I did."

He stood, scooped up his tools and the toy pig and carried them inside. His room was on the second floor, right above the kitchen. Sometimes they would both lean out of their windows, he and Mrs Brunner, chatting away as if they had known each other forever. When in reality, less than a month had passed since Ant moved into her inn. He smiled to himself. Anty, she had called him from day one, laughing as if it were a joke only she was in on. Leaving the pig on one of the cluttered shelves, he picked up a sheet of thin aluminium instead. Time to make a few more tin cars. He returned to his outside table.

Niklas had been a later addition to his life. One day Ant had spotted him on the other side of the cobblestone street, in the alleyway between the grocery store and the magazine shop. Bright green eyes looked Ant's way, or maybe it was the toys that drew his interest. And Ant realised that, he had seen the boy before. Not really noticed him, but definitely seen him. In the morning and evening throng. Or peering out of one of the countless back alleys. Wearing the same clothes every time; slip-on shoes with no socks, denim shorts with frayed legs, a grey shirt and over that an unbuttoned, dark blue jacket that was way too large for him, the hemline going past his knees and the sleeves hiding his arms and hands. As the days passed, Ant saw him again and again. Always, it seemed, on the outside. He wasn't there with anyone, and nobody seemed to spare him a second glance. Or even, a first.

After a couple of days, Ant made eye contact, only to witness the first of many greased lightning exits. It took another week, before the boy came up to the oak table. Not to gawk at the strange wolf creature, but to marvel at the things he built. Back then, an electric motorcar. Sensing that words would only break the spell, Ant kept up his work. Every now and then he turned the car around, to show as he put something in place. Half an hour passed, until someone down the street slammed a door. And Ant was alone again.

So it went, on and off, sometimes several times a day. For short lengths of time, Ant had an observer. The dragon had been the next step. It wasn't an exact replica of the dragon Cyder, which had been lost with the Fourtitude. The scales were finer, and there were more details to the face and the wings. Ant's skills had improved, after all, the more toys he made. There were no moving parts this time. It was more of a decoration, an ornament.

The boy watched as Ant made part after part, then brought them all together. And when it was time to paint, he stayed even though people walked past, and even though Mrs Brunner made a rattle inside, washing pots and pans. Ant was pleased with his paintwork; it was as good as he could possibly make it. He was passable. Four had been a master. The memory still pained him, but not as much as it used to. Being in a busier place, and having a lot of things to do, helped him get by.

"You look sad." Even Ant's sensitive wolf ears barely picked up the words. Maybe Niklas hadn't really meant to say them out loud, because suddenly he looked horrified. To stave off another disappearance, Ant merely nodded. Their eyes met, then ever so slowly a small hand moved over the table to touch his. "Why are you sad?"

"I had a very, very good friend, who used to paint my toys. He was much better than me." Ant let his voice be a little bit lighter than usual, keeping all the growly sounds out. "He died, and whenever I paint something, I think about him."

"That's why you're sad." The boy nodded, and his hand pulled back. "I'm sorry for your friend."

"Thank you." Ant tried a smile, one that didn't show too much teeth, and in return he got a slightly insecure grin. "My name is Ant. What's yours?"

* * * * * *

Niklas Ramirez lived alone with his mother, somewhere here in Konigsbrucke. He was near enough to eight years old to call himself eight years old. Now that it was summer there was no school, so he liked to hang around the business district. Sometimes he would find a job for a day or two, here and there, but mostly he watched others work. And learned. A while back he had wanted to become a guardsman, but now he wanted to make toys. It had been a plea as good as any.

That was as much as Ant knew, a week later. Niklas didn't like talking about himself, but it had become a give-and-take. If he wanted to know about Ant, he would have to trade with his own story. If he wanted to learn, he had to stay and watch and listen. That part hadn't worked all that well, yet. But Ant had time, and he had patience.

What he didn't have, was much sympathy for the boy's mother.

When he first saw her, Ant could tell from halfway down the street that she was inebriated. Once, during his travels with Four, he had drunk a few too many beers, enough to make him quite ill. After that he had stayed away from alcohol, and from drunk people. As far away as possible. He could not avoid Ms Ramirez, however, much as he would have liked to.

She simply walked unsteadily up to the oak table outside the inn, grabbed Niklas by his upper arm and yanked him off the bench. From her slurred words, it seemed as if her son hadn't been home for a couple of days, and Ant was to blame. She was as angry as she was intoxicated. Ant tried to calm her down, while she called him all kinds of names. Some he knew the meaning of, some he could guess, and some went over his head completely. A younger Ant would have exploded right then and there, but he had changed as he grew up. Become almost mellow. Almost.

Because, while he let her words run off him like they were nothing, he could not take what happened next. Still half dangling from her grip, Niklas grabbed hold of her cardigan, pleading with her to stop yelling at Ant. She stood the boy down, then slapped him in the face. Hard enough to make him stumble.

Without thinking, Ant leapt over the table with a loud growl, and placed himself between mother and child. Faced with his snarl, fangs on full display, she paled and backed away. He took one step forward, and she ran. When Ant turned around, Niklas was gone, too.

"That was almost scary, that was," came from the inn door. "Remind old Mrs B to not make her Anty angry, would you."

"I could never get mad at you, Mrs B," he said with a weak smile, and he kissed her cheek, making her coo happily. "But seriously, what was that?"

"Surely Anty has seen bad behaviour before?"

"I've seen kids fight. I've been beat up lots of times." Ant shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "But I've never seen... that!"

"Them that knows..." She sat down at the oak table with a sigh, and Ant joined her. "They say Molly never had it easy. Her papa drinks, her mama drinks. Drink to their graves, then leave her all alone. So she drinks. And then little baby boy comes along."

"And nobody helped them?" The sudden rush of adrenaline was leaving Ant's body, and his hands had started to shake. He clenched them involuntarily, almost as if something inside him was still itching for a fight. "Or, more to the point, helped him?"

"Oh, people talk. Poor Molly, Poor baby boy. Who can help? Who should help? Always they say someone should help, never they say I shall help." She shook her head sadly. "Even Mrs B talks but doesn't do. I'm too old to raise a junge, I am."

"Has she... has she done that before?"

"I don't know. But things like that, they rarely happen once and done."

Ant's mind was in a turmoil the next couple of days. He was worried about his little apprentice, but he was also half expecting to hear police officers knock on the inn door. Tow, the mechanic aboard the Morning Calm, had told him stories about prison, and it was not a place where Ant wanted to end up. But, nothing came to pass, and soon Niklas was back again. He said nothing about what happened, and ignored the angry mark on his left cheek. Respecting the boy's choice, Ant said nothing.

But there was a tension between them now. One that made Niklas jittery at times and gave his flight response a hair trigger. Their trading of stories ceased completely. All that was left, was the toys. Not even when Mrs Brunner offered him supper, did Niklas's new icy borders thaw. Ant decided on patience, and let the boy set their distance. But he also chose to take half a leaf out of Knife's book. While she had taunted Ant to lure him into very one-sided fist fights, he began a milder form of teasing. Instead of punches, little verbal jabs to draw out a response.

Sometimes it worked, and the frost that hung in the warm summer air melted a little. And sometimes, like today, it backfired. Leaving Ant alone while three strands of black hair danced down the street with a playful wind.

* * * * * *

When the time finally came to start selling his wares, Ant found himself alone. Niklas blankly refused to join him at the western town square, where Ant had rented a stall for two of the three market days. The paper printer from down the block had been by earlier, with Ant's order of toy manuals and cardboard boxes, and as he set up for market, he eyed the latter with mixed feelings. He had decided to recreate as best he could, the A&F logo that Four had designed for them, and seeing it in print made him feel proud of his dear friend's prowess. But...

Knowing that nobody would be beside him, chatting to kids, handing out balloons, smiling to rival the sun... that stung. Suddenly, he didn't want to do this. Not alone. He wished that Niklas had come along, if not to help then at least to keep him company. There should be two of them. It took an almost physical effort, but Ant did manage to put a lid on his dour mood before it got out of hand, and a few minutes later he had packed his hand cart to the point of tipping.

His stall was fancier than the plain table he had used in Wishing Well, during his first market as a seller. Here, he had a wide countertop, with hidden shelves underneath where he decided to store the boxes, ready to be folded and filled, and the manuals. At the back were taller shelves, giving him even more room for displays. A perfect place for the stuffed animals. Mrs Brunner had taught him to sew on buttons for eyes, and also how to decorate his creations using needlepoint. It had been a bit of a revelation for Ant, and he really liked the new looks he could give his bears, foxes, cows, birds, even a horse or two. Small ones. And wolfs. He had probably gone a bit overboard with them, and he decided to keep most of them on the hidden shelves.

On the counter he put the toys he could demonstrate. Clockwork toys, electric toys, things that could move if switched on or wound up. His favourite kind to make. He also had a box of small unmotorised tin cars, which were a bit boring to put together but usually sold well. And finally, he placed the now near-empty hand cart next to the stall, with his wood carvings. They were far from perfect, especially the painting of them, but with the right discount he hoped to sell one or two. These, too, were mostly wolfs. His left ear flicked; he really needed to diversify.

Before he opened for business he thought of something, and he tore off one side of a cardboard box. On it he texted 'Ask for commissions', and he let a stuffed wolf on the back shelf hold it. His tail wagged. Despite his misgivings earlier, he was ready to go.

* * * * * *

Ant was hungry, tired and happy when he made his way back to the inn. His cart was considerably lighter. The tin cars were all gone. So, to his surprise, were the wood carvings. A couple of stalls away, a local artisan had showed off her wood works and paintings, and the interest had spilled over to Ant. He became a less expensive alternative. Not that he minded, far from it.

Of course, there had been many wide eyes and many curious glances aimed his way, but since he had been on Ahkka for a while now, his appearance didn't stir up a commotion anymore. He worked right through midday. Folding boxes turned out to be more time-consuming than he realised, and he often found himself talking to the next customer while still finishing up his sale. It had been exhausting, but it had been fun as well. And even though he had raised his prices, his stuff sold well. His money card was almost running hot.

He parked the cart behind the inn, underneath the patio, where it should be safe for tomorrow. There weren't many guests at the moment. Lunch rush was long over, and the evening crowd had yet to take their seats. Ant walked up a set of steps and made his way past the tables, exchanging greetings with a couple of locals. Once inside the inn, he opened the kitchen door and peered in.

"Any chance for an early supper, Mrs B?" She looked up from a pot she was stirring. "I missed my lunch break."

"Oh, you bad boy," she scolded, but she did smile. "Sit down, and I'll bring you that stuffed eggplant you like so much."

"Need any help?"

"Out!" she huffed. "When Mrs B is too old to run this place by herself, she'll retire."

Ant plopped down on his usual bench out front, at the oak table, and busied himself by pounding out new shells for tin cars. He used the head of a steel hammer, which he rigged up on a tripod so that it would be steady. It could be swung around so that either the rounded end or the flat end faced up, whichever he needed for the type of car he wanted to make. Then he used a small wooden mallet to beat the metal into shape. He had three shells ready to be polished, painted and fitted with wheels, when Mrs Brunner placed a plate in front of him. A double helping! Their eyes met, and he grinned. Next came a slice of yellow beet pie, followed by two large mugs of sparkling grape juice.

"Mrs B, this is too much for me."

"Not for you, the pie." She winked at him, then chuckled. "Leaving it out for the little garden gnome. Mrs B happens to know, gnomes love beet pie."

Ant stole a quick glance across the street, and saw that familiar mop or jet black hair, sans three strands. Knowing better that to try and invite the boy in, Ant tucked into his food. He closed his eyes, savouring the subtle spices from the stuffing, as well as the almost peppery sharpness of the sour cabbage side dish that he had grown fond of. When he looked up again, Niklas sat opposite him, idly playing with one of the car shells.

"If you hang around after supper, I'll show you how to put the wheels on." He kept eating, while the boy said nothing. After a minute, Ant nodded to the second plate. "The pie is getting   cold."

"Eat it, then."

"I've got my food." To prove his point, Ant shoved a forkful into his mouth. "That one's yours."

"I don't need charity."

"It's not charity, it's yellow beet."

"I'm not a beggar!"

"I know," Ant said mildly after a tense pause. "But Mrs B made that pie just for you. Wouldn't it be rude to make her throw it away?"

Silence fell as Ant continued eating, and he half expected another swift escape. But, after a little while, Niklas picked up his fork and poked at the pie. In the end hunger won out over pride. Once one bite was gone, the rest quickly followed. Ant ached to call out for another slice, which he knew Mrs Brunner would happily provide, but that would be crossing the line. The boy had eaten, that had to count as a small victory.

Ant cleared their plates away, but they kept their juice mugs, and another lesson began. Every now and then, other patrons stopped by to watch, and even people passing by on the street seemed interested. Niklas was either too engrossed in the work to notice their audience, or he ignored them. The car wheels were pretty simple. Just a metal pin with a disc at each end, which Ant had padded with strips from a diver's wetsuit, to simulate tyres. He had a box full of them, all the same size to fit both front and rear of the cars. He showed Niklas how to attach them to slots in the shells, and make sure they turned smoothly. The boy grinned widely when he managed to do it at his first attempt.

"I'm gonna make some more shells, soon as the market days are over. Then if you want, you can fit the wheels."

"Really, all of them?"

"Mhm. But..." Ant paused, and the boy's face fell into a pout. Clearly, he was steeling himself for some kind of rejection. "I'm not letting you do it just like that."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"You work for me, I pay you." Ant saw the negative emotions that began to take form, so he pushed on. "It's not charity. I make money off these. Only fair that you get your share."

Niklas seemed caught between a pout and a frown, but in the end it became a smile. The two toasted in grape juice, and Ant counted yet another tiny win.

* * * * * *

Early next morning, Ant left the inn kitchen balancing a mountain of toast on a too-small tray. Mrs Brunner was still on his case about not eating properly, and being busy was, it seemed, not excuse enough. The feat would have been tricky using both hands, but as it was, he was carrying a pitcher of orange juice as well. He made it past the slightly uneven floor of the foyer, over the high threshold of the front door, down the steps and across the front yard to his usual table. But there, his luck ran out. Just as he, very carefully, set the tray down, a smiling face appeared right in front of him, upside-down.

"Hi!"

A tuft of jet black hair brushed against the topmost piece of toast. Ant tried to catch it, but when he did he spilled juice onto the table. In order to save the pitcher, he pulled back, which sent his toast flying. The tray clattered to the ground, and Ant nearly tripped on the bench. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Niklas hop down from the oak. Biting back a frustrated growl, Ant started picking up food off the table, the bench and the cobblestones. And off the spilled orange juice. Soggy toast. He was just about to huff when the window opened.

"Anty, what are you doing? Oh, you messy boy! Wait, I'll make you some more."

"It's all right, Mrs B. Nothing got too dirty."

"You're not eating from the ground! If my other guests knew, poor old Mrs B would be out of business." Saying nothing, Ant took a defiant bite out of the piece he was holding. "Ach, you! Be the death of me!"

She slammed the window shut, while Ant kept chewing as he sat down. Actually, the orange juice gave the toast a sweet flavour. Went really well with the leftover sour cabbage filling he had asked for. He had to swallow quickly, before he started drooling. Across the table, Niklas grinned at him.

"What?"

"Anty?" Ant rolled his eyes, and the boy laughed, then mimicked Mrs Brunner's accent almost perfectly. "Messy boy Anty, eating from the ground."

"I'm glad you're having fun." Faking a pout, Ant picked up one of the non-soggy toast pieces and tossed it to the boy. He eyed it insecurely. "Eat. Mrs B made food enough for three Ants. Are you helping out at the market today?"

"No." Niklas shook his head, while he nibbled his toast. The filling seemed to throw him for a bit, but he still kept eating. "I don' like the crowds much. It's too noisy."

"I can understand that."

"I thought maybe... maybe I could help you pack."

"Great!" Ant grinned. "Thank you."

"You're w-welcome." Niklas's cheeks pinked a little, and Ant felt a twinge inside. Clear as day, the boy wasn't used to kind words. "I... I sorta like helping you. When I can."

"Think you could come by this afternoon and help me haul everything back?"

"Yeah!"

Despite Ant's quip about food for three, the two of them managed to polish off both the toast and the orange juice. They took turns drinking from the pitcher, and whenever Mrs Brunner checked on them, she ended up shaking her head. Ant cleared and cleaned the table, then sent Niklas round back for the cart, while he himself went up to his room for toys. Soon, the cart was every bit as top heavy as it had been yesterday. The last thing Ant stacked was the dragon figure he had made, and he caught Niklas casting it a quick glance. He resisted a sudden urge to gift him the toy, knowing it wouldn't be well received.

* * * * * *

Ant was still setting up, when the first customers started forming a line. Apparently, word had gone around. Removing the discount on the wood carvings turned out to be a lucky move, because even at a higher price, they all but flew out of his cart. Tail wagging happily, he started pondering where he could get his hands on more raw material. He also picked up a couple of commissions during the initial rush. One for a customised race car, and three for specific stuffed toys. He promised to do his best, and asked the customers to come and see him at the inn in a week or two.

During the morning, a fair opened up in the main square, and foot traffic by the stalls began to slow down. Ant had time for a quick lunch before things picked up again. A lady a couple of stalls down sold potato sticks cooked in vegetable oil, and he found the salty treats irresistible. He even went back for seconds. In the afternoon there were more children around, and they soon flocked to Ant. He fought back a pang of sadness as they fawned over his wares, asked for pictures with him, or just chatted. One voice was missing. One happy smile that should have been there, wasn't.

A couple of kids bought tin cars or stuffed toys, before they moved on towards the fair. Four would have been in their midst, eager to make new friends and try new things and have fun. Then he would have come back with so many tales that he'd trip over his words as he tried to tell them all. Forcing himself to stay in the present, Ant took a deep breath and held it, then tried to exhale his grief. It mostly worked, and if anyone noticed that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, they didn't comment on it.

When it was finally time to call it quits, Ant's shelves were all but bare. A couple of stuffed wolfs left with their new owners, two very happy-looking twin girls, then Ant closed shop. Just as he started to clean up, Niklas came over. The boy seemed a bit on edge, and when he looked into the stall his face fell. He didn't say anything, but Ant had a feeling he knew what was wrong. They packed the cart in silence, but when Ant brought out the last thing from underneath the counter, he heard a faint gasp.

The dragon had been on display during the morning, but without a price tag. People still asked to buy it, and in the end Ant moved it to one of the hidden shelves. Now, he set it in front of Niklas, then tilted his head. The boy fidgeted for a little while, then he dug deep into his jacket pockets and produced two handfuls of small coins. At a glance it was enough for a carved wood wolf, or maybe one of the smaller stuffed toys. The dragon, though, was made entirely of metal, and had taken almost three weeks to finish.

"It's not..." The boy's voice hitched. "It's not enough, is it?"

Ant counted about three quarters of the coins and pulled them towards himself, then he placed the dragon on top of the rest. A glimmer lit up the boy's eyes, but then his face hardened into a surly look. Ant frowned back at him, and they glared at each other for a little while.

"I'm not a charity case."

"Never said you were." Ant forced himself to keep his tone even. "I just named my price, take it or leave it."

"It's worth way more." A small hand reached for the toy, but faltered just as one finger almost touched a scale. "You should sell it to someone who's got money."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Going on instinct, Ant made his voice stern, almost growly. "If you'd been here today, with me, you might've got a say."

"Fine!" Niklas tried to sound harsh, but he couldn't hide a tiny quaver. "Keep your d-damn toy!"

He scooped up his coins, but some dropped to the ground and prevented a quick exit. Once he had picked them all up, Niklas's face was flushed. He turned around and began to stomp off. Ant let him cross half the square, before he called out.

"Work it off!"

The boy froze. His body trembled visibly as he warred with his own pride, but in the end he turned around and came back to the stall. Their eyes met, and Ant felt almost sorry for his little friend. A lock-stare was a wolf way to assert dominance without resorting to a fight, and Ant was an excellent glarer. True, it usually hadn't helped; due to his diminutive size, he would get pummelled anyway. Against a human, though, it was no contest. Niklas held out for a few seconds, then he looked away.

"What do you mean..." he muttered. "Work, how?"

"I won't pay you for putting wheels on the tin cars. Or anything else you help me with. I might get you to run errands for me." He smirked. "Or I'll have you do Mrs B's dishes."

"Ugh." The boy made a sour face. "For how long?"

"Until I say enough." Ant held out his hand. "Deal?"

Niklas stared at the furry hand. Emotions came and went on his face. Mistrust. Want. Fear. Hope. Then, he tentatively took it. Ant shook his small hand gently, then gave him the dragon. The smile that lit up the boy's face, almost cracked Ant's business-like exterior.

The gap that had ached inside his chest for too long, began to fill up a little. Just a little.

* * * * * *

True to his word, Ant made sure that Niklas worked for his toy. They spent each morning after breakfast making tin cars, and afternoons were mostly for lessons. The boy watched Ant work on his commissions, and tried repeating the processes on discarded projects. Wise from experience, Niklas used a piece of string to tie his hair back. He steadfastly refused to get it cut.

Ant hadn't seen Ms Ramirez since the day she slapped her son, but every time he tried to pry, Niklas clammed up, or left. More and more, Ant began to suspect that he was sleeping rough. He ate when Ant did, since Mrs Brunner always made sure to set out too much food for one, but he refused any talk about staying at the inn. However, to Ant's delight, he seemed to warm up to the old innkeeper. Whenever Niklas was told to help her out, Ant soon heard chatter and even laughter from the kitchen.

Stone by stone, the rigid walls that Niklas had built up around his self began to crumble. The two of them were slowly progressing from teacher and student, to friends. In hindsight, Ant should have known it was too good to last.

* * * * * *
Interlude: The Spider
* * * * * *

Water dripped from the ceiling, and a mouldy smell filled the room. Something was rotting, as the Fourtitude thawed. It was pitch black, since the electricity was still off. Yet, had anyone been there to hear it, there was a faint sound. A scraping, along the outside of the hull.

Then the door opened a crack, and a sliver of bright light flooded the main room. A mechanical device fitted itself against the insulating jamb. Hydraulic engines whined, and the door was pushed all the way open.

What entered looked more like a giant spider than anything else, but with far too many legs. It crawled inside all the way, then the door slammed shut behind it. For a second there was darkness again, but then tiny bright spotlights lit up on several of the machine's arms. It walked to the middle of the room, then started touching everything within its reach. Scanners verified the little ferry's sorry state, while claws began digging into the walls.

One arm touched the couch, which caused the armrest to fall off. The deep freeze and the fast thaw had done the wood and the fabric no good. The arm crept on, grabbed the blanket and pulled it aside. Four lay there, his synthetic skin grey and all his systems down. Spindly extensions shot out from the arm, and began examining him. They bored into his skull, poking and prodding his electronic brain.

Somewhere inside, the fractured thing that had once been Four's mind, stirred. It felt something, something weird, touching it. Seconds passed, then electricity flooded into him. It hurt. It burned in a way Four could not have ever imagined. He tried to escape back into blackness, but his self was dragged out and laid bare. That horrible something was watching, evaluating. A metallic voice boomed, frighteningly loud.

"Who might you be?"