Actuator, No Questions
A customer wants a silent repair and is willing to pay extra for the silence. The mechanic has to decide whether the silence is the ordinary kind or the kind that later becomes a problem for everyone.
A fictional narrative within Callizto Dark Symphony.
“No log,” the customer said.
Dara looked at the damaged wrist actuator.
“I don’t log half of what comes through here.”
“This half needs to stay that way.”
“Is it stolen?”
“No.”
“Is it going to get someone killed?”
“No.”
“Is it going to get me killed?”
A pause.
“Not if you keep it quiet.”
Dara considered the extra credit chip on the bench, the quality of the damage, and the fact that the customer’s posture said undercity rather than upper-city desperation.
“I repair it. You take it. If anyone asks, I never saw the serial. If the serial turns out to belong to someone on the protected side, you and I are both going to have a conversation we will not enjoy.”
“Understood.”
She repaired it. The customer left. Two days later a quiet confirmation moved through the lattice that the actuator had belonged to a courier who worked the lower routes and had simply been unlucky with a load. No veil was required.
Dara put the extra chip in the jar that paid for tea and replacement seals.
Some silences were just work.