FICTION: Arc

When the old Welder tells you a joke, he speaks of fabrication. Apt, given that the industrial hunger to bond two materials together is insatiable.

He looks across the table at you, squinting in the already dim light. "So, is your money going to bond to my hand?" He had already showed you what he was capable of, and the join was neat. He just wanted his side of the deal to be tidy, which was fair.

Expeditions, however, were not fair, they were often paid for in blood, and, behind his piercing, stern eyes, you could not entirely determine his motivations - was it the purpose, or was it the cold, hard cash?

"You might just be the most important man on the crew, apart from the science staff." He grinned at you, knowing he had won.

"Welcome to the team."

His hand, when it shook yours, was rough, calloused, and strong. He would, with any luck, not be doing much welding, but it was important to have someone skilled in the craft, because the expedition depended on it. Your own life depended on it.

A welder isn't much good if a bridge has already collapsed, but they are very useful to proactively repair things that are in disarray. You knew this. He probably thought it was just like any other job.

You passed the money across the able. He thanked you with a gruff word, and rose. "We leave in the morning?" He asked. You give him a nod, and part ways. It would be an early start.

You slept poorly, not knowing what the morning would bring. He'd get more pay out of you, but simultaneously, if he needed to actually do any work, you'd get your moneys worth too.

The welder was on retainer, but for now, all he built was a fortress of cash, and a deep hole in your finances. Perhaps he would be not only good for fabrication, but also for some deconstruction and plasma cutting. Afterall, the tools were similar.

In the muster area, a pile of crates and a collection of haphazardly parked vehicles: the first question you asked him - "You can cut things open as well?"

"For a price." he replied.

"We'll hope there will be no accidents then," you murmur, tapping the flank of the car's engine bay, following the curved edge of the A pillar to its smooth roof.