Jennie Rex
Chloe Jones could hear the squeak from her left boot even over the overwhelming rumble and buzz of the convention hall. Every other dispirited clump away from the main stalls forced an unhappy little peep out of the admittedly impressive footwear.
She mentally underscored and put in bold the note she was going to write to herself when she got back to the hotel room: Don’t buy boots at the last minute, even if they are perfect for the costume. And pay attention to the reviews that say they’re sized a bit small.
Ouch. Next time she’d cosplay a zombie. In sensible shoes.
She clumped on, zombie tired after a long day and desperate to take a rest away from the convention crowd. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she could see the spar of one meticulously constructed wing flapping rather more than it should with each step. Collateral damage from a fan who’d rushed past her to chase a signing. Maybe she could tighten something to fix it.
The crowds had been thinning as the afternoon wore on, but it was still a relief to head into a dark corner of the hall. The stall holders here had only claimed individual tables to spread out their wares. Further back, some booths were empty. Then deep in the back of the vast space there were only little huddles of bare display boards, empty villages waiting for villagers to occupy them.
Chloe headed round the corner of one naked group of stands to find a spot hidden from the rest of the hall. She’d sit and rest her sore feet and maybe have a look at that wing. There was no-one here to bother her.
Expecting empty space, her boot squeaked in surprise at the sight of two tables overflowing with gear. Behind it an elderly woman of amazonian proportions sprawled in a battered leather high backed chair — fast asleep. Irrationally, Chloe found herself thinking that if Brienne of Tarth had a granny who wore denim boiler suits, she’d look like this. The woman snored loudly, her mouth carelessly wide open. Behind her a hand painted sign declared “Jennie Rex — REPAIRS”.
The woman was clearly unaware of anything around her — certainly anything quieter than that deafening snore — but all the same, Chloe found herself exclaiming “Oh! I’m sorry!” and immediately regretting it. Instantly the gaping mouth snapped shut, and one grey eye blinked open to stare at her. The other opened moments later and suddenly a sparkling searchlight gaze had trapped Chloe where she stood.
“That wing needs fixing, my love”, the woman leaned forward to examine Chloe’s costume carefully. Even sat in the ancient chair, she was as tall as Chloe despite those impressive — still painful — boots. She smiled broadly, “Take that harness off then, let’s see what we’ve got!”
Obediently Chloe shrugged her way out of the harness that she’d constructed for her wings. The woman — presumably Jennie, from the sign behind her — pushed aside oddments on one table to make space for the contraption.
“You’ve done nicely here, my love. That’s good design, that is. Unfortunate for it to break really.” Chloe found herself blushing. The woman continued robustly, “Glue gun’ll fix that.”
“Really? It’s quite thin,” Chloe wanted to apologise to counter the unexpected praise.
“I’m the best gun in the business! Ask ’em! Nothing fixes like Jennie Rex”, she laughed throatily. Without looking away from Chloe’s broken wing she fished around under the desk to bring out a glue gun, its red light blinking in surprise.
Jennie carefully aligned the wing spar and applied a precise bead of hot glue. “Finger there, my love!” she declared, and Chloe found herself dutifully pressing the section together with one finger.
As she stood holding the spar in place, Chloe looked around at the packed stall. The tables were covered with complicated looking pieces of machinery and glass. Hand drawn signs pressed in amongst them declared “PROPS”, “REPLICAS”, “WEAPONS”, “STEAMPUNK” in colourful letters.
The walls of the stand were studded with plastic folders holding cards and papers. More handwritten signs identified them as “MAPS”, “LANGUAGES”, “GUIDES”, “DESIGNS”. In between two folders a picture frame held a faded photograph, a gangly young woman in a familiar denim boilersuit, standing in a sunlit field next to a shiny Harley Davidson with a spanner glinting in one hand. Cables dangled haphazardly over the photograph and between the folders. In one corner a stack of plastic crates as high as the stand itself appeared packed with papers, half obscured objects and more tangles of wire.
As she examined the odd and eclectic collection of products, Chloe slowly became aware that she had been standing in silence for an increasingly awkward time. Hunting for something to say, she opened her mouth hoping polite conversation would appear. Instead the space in front of her folded in on itself, turned a searing shade of green and with a dull pop filled with a short, blonde haired man. She blinked at the sheer physical impossibility of his sudden appearance less than an arms length from her.
“You’re late”, Jennie remarked casually.
“The coordinates don’t lock in as tightly as they should!”, the man huffed, raising a leather clad arm to gesture at an oversized device on his wrist, “Who’s she?”. He barely glanced at Chloe standing in mute shock next to him.
“She’s Chloe, needed her wing fixing,” Jennie explained casually. Chloe tried to recall if she’d ever said her name. “and you’d hit those coordinates if you didn’t overdrive the compensators.”
“Needs a service,” he muttered defensively, running a hand through his blonde locks.
“Hah! That’s Xth’rian tech. Never needs a service. Now then, what else are you trying to break, my love?”
Still muttering, he reached into a pocket of his leather jacket and brought out a small cube, “Stasis caster. The field depth is dropping and it takes an age to establish. It’s no good when you need it quick.”
Jennie rolled her eyes and laughed ruefully. “Typical hero. Always got to be in the nick of time, haven’t you? Let’s see what you’ve done with it.”, she took it from him and placed it on the table.
He started to protest weakly, but Jennie was leaning in to closely examine the cube and shushed him with the wave of a hand. Chloe didn’t dare make a noise. Jennie grasped the cube in solid, work beaten hands and deftly twisted it. It let out a slightly irritated sounding beep and neatly clicked open. Inside an impossibly dense tangle of hair fine wires were illuminated by rapidly blinking sparks of light.
“Did you drop it?”, she asked sharply.
“Never!”
“Not even slightly?”, without moving her head she briefly turned her piercing gaze up to him.
“Not once!” Her attention flicked up from the cube again, and he shifted uncomfortably, “…Though there was this time..”
Jennie harumphed loudly enough to stop him, “Saving the universe, were you?”, she poked at the wires carefully.
“Well actually,” the man puffed himself up, “I single-handedly..”
“...you single-handedly nearly turned yourself inside out, hero.”, she reached behind her ear and pulled a soldering iron from under a cascade of grey hair. It appeared to be already on, “It’s all very well gallivanting across the dimensions making a name for yourself, but I’m the one that has to work double time to tidy up the mess. Or in your case,” she delicately touched the soldering iron to a wire, “I would have been mopping you off the walls if this had tripped.” A thin wisp of smoke trailed up from the cube.
He visibly blanched and deflated a little, before rallying, “Jennie, we cross the universe for you because you’re the best.”
“Spare the smoke, hero.”, she interrupted, “I repair stuff, you save stuff. Then I repair it again. It’s not like the stories you tell at the bar, the hero against the universe, making things right with just a temporal adjuster and your assistant’s bra strap.”
“That was just the once!” He protested, but weakly.
“Not what I’ve heard,” Jennie fixed him with a stare, but there was a twinkle in her eye. “We all know it’s not like the stories. Takes a space freighter to carry around all the tools and handy gizmos and plans and the rest. Then who looks after it all? Not you — too busy washing your hair, aren’t you?”
Jennie chuckled as he guiltily pulled his hand from straightening his blonde locks. “That’s ok. You need a little mythology to help things along. We like our universe to not fall apart or explode. And I like fixing things… and getting paid.”
In her hands, the cube clicked shut with a triumphant trill. “What have you got for me?”
“This is an outstanding time crystal”, he started reaching into his jacket pocket.
“Time crystal?!”, Jennie threw her head back to laugh, “Do I look like a tourist?”
“No! This one is near perfect, trust me!”, he protested, “You can get nearly..”
“..two centuries displacement?!” She parroted along with him, “If I had a dollar for every time someone offered me a time crystal with two centuries displacement, I’d be able to retire five years before I started the job.”
“Well.. “, he reached slightly deeper into his pocket than was physically possible. After a moment he brought out a wriggling metallic green creature, “How about a Kritzkian A.I.? It’s untrained.”
He placed the creature on the table next to the repaired cube. For a moment it lay flat — a shiny segmented, three legged starfish. A dark central eye flicked to observe Chloe, then Jennie, then the hero. Silently it pulled itself up onto its three stubby legs and started hopping inquisitively around the table. Jennie regarded it thoughtfully.
“Untrained? Not reset?”
“Untrained! I wouldn’t offer anything less!”
She clicked her fingers above it, and the creature became motionless, “Hmm… Maybe, my love… Yes. Why not? You’ve got a deal!”
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, and fished the stasis cube off the table slightly too hastily, “Well, I’ve promised to make good use of this in a difficult negotiation, so I’d better go.” He paused slightly, “You’ll fix the girl?”
Chloe realised he was referring to her, and started to ask what he meant. But as she tried to form the words, she realised with a jolt that she was immobile, unable to move a single muscle.
Jennie sighed, “Fix her? Wipe her, you mean. Damn heroes, make the mess, let someone else sort things out.”
“Yes… well.” He had the decency to look slightly embarrassed, then faced Chloe for the first time. A slightly too practised smile flashed on his face, “Sorry not to meet you properly, but there’s a universe that needs saving. The time is now to go!”. If ever there was a phrase that screamed of hours spent practising in front of a mirror, that was it.
Theatrically, he lifted his forearm, stabbed at it with a finger and the space around him turned into twisting ribbons of impossible colour, pinched itself inside out and with a rubber band twang, bounced back into normality. The empty space somehow radiated disappointment at his sudden disappearance. Where he had stood a few last sparkles of light danced outwards.
“You know what that was?” Jennie asked no-one in particular, “That was someone overdriving their compensators just to show off. Damn heroes. Notice he was standing in open space there? No finesse at all.”
She turned to face the still immobile Chloe, “I’m sorry my love. Don’t like putting people in paralysis like that, but sometimes it’s for the best. Now all your neurotransmitters have been repressed, so when I drop the field, you’ll get a bit of a kick from the adrenaline. Doesn’t feel too nice I’m afraid, but try and stick with it. Then we can talk.”
Jennie reached under the table. With a sharp electric jolt Chloe could suddenly move again. A wave of fear, excitement and sheer surprise crashed over her and for a moment she almost fell.
Then realisation hit, “Oh.” she found herself saying in a small, lost voice, “Oh.”
Eyes wide and tears just beginning to prick, Chloe heard herself saying, “You’re going to make me forget, aren’t you?”
“That’s what he wants. Typical hero. Leaves me to sort things out.” Jennie sighed and grimaced sadly. Then unexpectedly she threw back her head and laughed, “Sod ‘em! ‘Course I’m not going to do that! Why’d you think I use a convention as a meeting place? Who’s going to notice a self-important time traveller in the middle of this mess? You could drive a Thrith battle charger into this place and people wouldn’t blink!”, she grinned happily.
“What? But this proves… I could tell..”, Chloe began.
“Tell what? That you’ve met an alien time traveller at a science fiction convention?”, Jennie laughed again, “How’d you think that conversation would go?”
“Wait. What? Alien?”
“On his mother’s side. Doesn’t talk about it. Much.”, Jennie rolled her eyes theatrically. “Anyway, looks like your wing’s mended.”
“What?”, Chloe had completely forgotten about her broken wing. “Oh yes, thanks.”, she lifted the harness. The wing smoothly extended, the repaired spar doing its job faultlessly.
“Now about my payment,” Jennie began. Automatically Chloe started reaching for her purse, but Jennie stopped her, “No, no. Not that my love. Now I really like that track on Pink’s new album, the one that goes..”, and she sang with a voice that was joyful and melodic.
“I.. I don’t recognise that one.”
“Well, yes, maybe it’s on her next album then. Can you get it for me? On vinyl?”
“Pink’s album? On Vinyl?”, Chloe asked helplessly.
“That’s the one, my love. You brought it to me a couple of conventions ago. Some time next year for you.”
Chloe tried to figure it out, “Next year?”
“Maybe the year after.. I wasn’t paying attention. Anyway, it’ll be nice to meet you and introduce ourselves properly. Right now, I’ve got to deliver a phase oscillator to another damn hero.”
Jennie sat back in her chair and reached under the table. With twinkling eyes she grinned at Chloe, “Now, heroes dematerialising themselves in open space is easy. What’s tricky is when you’re hard up against other stuff. Look at those folders,” she gestured at the display behind her.
Automatically Chloe looked at the folders thumb-tacked to the display boards next to the picture of the young woman in 70’s clothes fixing her bike.
“Watch carefully!” Jennie declared. And with a quiet pop she was gone, along with the folders, the picture, the cables and boxes and the rows of obscure items laid out on the table. All that was left was a bare stand, unoccupied at the back of the convention hall.
Chloe blinked and took a step backwards. Her boot protested with a disgruntled squeak.
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Or you might enjoy Far Beyond or Fixing Things
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