Progflaw99
Well-Known Member
DANTE CALGAR | DANTOOINE
By the time Dante came downstairs, the morning had reached the kitchen windows and his wife had set breakfast at his usual place. She had left the coffee in the shade of the bread basket, where it could cool while he attended to whatever had delayed him. Today it had been a bootlace, broken halfway through tying it, and the discovery that reaching beneath the bed for its replacement was significantly more difficult than it once had been.
He found Maren standing at the counter with a jar braced against her hip. Her dark hair was gathered loosely at the nape of her neck, silver showing at the temples, and there was something familiar in the patient look she gave him. At the sound of his footsteps she turned, offering the jar without explanation. Dante loosened the lid and passed it back, accepting a kiss for his trouble.
“Breakfast is getting cold.”
“Then I’ve arrived just in time.”
She gave him a look and carried the preserves to the table.
He sat with one leg extended, easing the stiffness left by yesterday’s work. The fence along the southern pasture had needed three new posts, and he had persuaded himself that fetching the loader would take longer than setting them by hand. This morning, with the tools still waiting by the workshop door and another stretch of fence to inspect, the arithmetic seemed less convincing.
Outside, fields fell gently away from the house toward a low rise where the morning haze still lingered. Recent ploughing had left the nearer ground dark and uneven, its furrows busy with small birds. A autonomous cultivator moved along the distant boundary, drawing a pale wake through the dry soil. With the window open, he could hear its engine beneath the rustle of the climbing plant Maren had trained around the porch. He drank his coffee and watched the machine turn. There was something liberating about seeing work from this distance, with breakfast before him and no immediate obligation to take part. He could allow himself another cup before going out.
Maren settled opposite him, drawing her datapad away from the bread basket.
“Raphael thinks he’ll be here by four tomorrow.”
Dante looked back from the window, his attention drawn away from the cultivator making its slow progress across the fields. Maren was reading from her datapad, apparently unconcerned by the uncertainty in their son's arrangements.
“Thinks?”
“There’s a meeting in the morning. He doesn’t know how long it will take.”
“He should tell them he has somewhere to be.”
Maren glanced up at him over the edge of the datapad. She had heard enough of these complaints over the years to know that Dante's opinion of political obligations was unlikely to change with further explanation.
“I imagine the other senators do as well.”
“That ought to give them something to agree on.”
The remark earned him a small smile, though Maren returned her attention to the message without indulging him further. Dante took another drink of his coffee, privately satisfied with the suggestion, and turned his attention back to breakfast.
She smiled down at the message while he cut into his eggs. Raphael had mentioned coming during their last conversation, though the date had depended on matters still unresolved on Anaxes. Dante had followed enough of the proceedings to have an opinion about those matters, and had kept most of it to himself. His son had plenty of people willing to explain his responsibilities to him. He could reasonably expect an evening at home without acquiring another.
“Will he stay the night?” Dante asked.
“He says so.” Maren set her datapad beside her plate and reached for the preserves. “I told him we'd have the room ready.”
Dante reached for his toast, though the mention of the room upstairs brought something else to mind. He paused with his hand halfway across the table, remembering a conversation from Raphael's last visit that he had rather conveniently allowed to slip from his thoughts.
His son had come down to breakfast that morning with his sleeves rolled to the elbows and the weary expression of a man who had spent much of the night negotiating with an unreasonable adversary. When Dante asked how he had slept, Raphael had wanted to know whether the ventilation unit was intended to cool the room or merely discourage sleep. Apparently, it had rattled through most of the night while producing so little air that he had eventually opened the window. The insects had been considerably more enthusiastic about the arrangement than he turned out to be.
Dante had promised to repair it before Raphael returned. He remembered making the assurance quite clearly, including his confident estimate that the work would take no more than half an hour. That had been several weeks ago, and as far as he knew, the unit was still in precisely the condition Raphael had left it.
Across the table, Maren had stopped spreading preserves on her toast. She followed his gaze toward the staircase, then looked back at him with an expression of quiet recognition.
“The ventilation?” she asked.
“I'll look at it this morning.”
“I thought you might.”
There was no accusation in her voice, which Dante found less reassuring than he might have liked. He drew a slice of toast toward himself and considered the work awaiting him. Yesterday had been occupied by the fence along the southern pasture, and before that there had been a leaking coupling in the workshop. Both had required his attention, though neither explained why the ventilation unit had remained untouched for so long. He had simply grown accustomed to passing the open bedroom door without giving it another thought. Now he could picture Raphael lying awake beneath that persistent rattle, the room growing warmer despite the machine's best efforts, and found himself wishing he had attended to it sooner.
“If it needs a part, I'll have to go into town,” he sighed, more to himself than to Maren.
She returned the lid to the preserves and considered this for a moment.
“Then take the list from the counter. We're nearly out of coffee.”
Dante glanced into his cup, where the last mouthful had begun to cool, and reached for the pot before she could claim it. Maren watched him with mild amusement before extending her own cup across the table. He filled hers first, then helped himself to what remained. There was still enough for both of them, and no particular reason to hurry through breakfast. The ventilation could wait another few minutes.
He took his time finishing breakfast, listening as Maren spoke about a few things she wanted done before Raphael arrived. Most of them were small enough, though Dante suspected the list would grow as the day went on. Once they had finished eating, he helped carry the dishes to the counter and left Maren to tidy the kitchen while he went to fetch his tools from the workshop. The morning was pleasant enough that he might ordinarily have found an excuse to remain outside, but the promise he had made to Raphael was fresh in his mind, and he had already put the repair off longer than he intended.
Upstairs, the sun had climbed high enough to reach the far wall of the guest bedroom. Maren had already made up the bed for Raphael, replacing the linens and leaving the curtains drawn back to admit the morning light. The room was otherwise much as his son had left it, with a few books on the shelf and a jacket hanging behind the door that had been forgotten during his last visit.
The ventilation unit sat above the wardrobe, its narrow grille facing the foot of the bed. Dante brought a stool over from the landing and climbed high enough to inspect the housing. He removed the cover, setting each fastener on the wardrobe beneath him, then reached inside to test the mechanism by hand. The filter was clean, and the fan turned freely enough, though the regulator controlling the airflow offered considerably more resistance than it should have.
He worked the mechanism back and forth, listening to the faint metallic catch that accompanied each movement. There was enough play in the assembly to suggest that something had worn loose, and when he switched the unit on, the cause of Raphael's complaint became apparent. The regulator shuddered against its housing, producing an unpleasant rattle as the internal vane slipped out of position and obstructed the airflow.
Dante switched it off and removed the assembly for a closer inspection. The teeth along one side of the actuator had worn almost smooth. He could probably have fixed the vane in an open position and left the fan running, but that would have been a temporary solution at best. Besides, he had promised Raphael he'd have it fixed. He turned the damaged regulator over in his hands, looking for a manufacturer's mark. The lettering was small and partially obscured by years of dust, but the model number was still legible. A replacement ought to be common enough, and if the parts dealer in town didn't have one, he would know somebody who did.
By the time Dante returned the grille to its housing and carried his tools downstairs, Maren had cleared the breakfast dishes and was standing at the kitchen sink. She looked over her shoulder as he entered, taking in the small mechanical assembly in his hand.
“Not half an hour, then?”
“About that,” Dante replied, setting the regulator on the counter. “It's the part that's the problem.”
“Of course it is.”
He examined the worn teeth once more, then fetched a scrap of paper from beside the datapad and wrote down the model number. Maren watched him for a moment before turning back to the sink.
“So you're going into town?”
“I'd better. Shouldn't take long if they have one in stock.”
“There's a list beside the door. Don't forget the coffee.”
Dante folded the paper and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He collected the shopping list on his way through the kitchen, scanning its contents while Maren dried her hands. Coffee, flour, a few things for supper, and a handful of other necessities that had apparently become his responsibility by virtue of going out.
“You've added quite a bit since breakfast.”
“I thought you might as well make the trip worthwhile.”
He gave her a look, though there was little point arguing. She had already turned her attention to the cupboards, considering what else they might need before Raphael arrived.
Outside, the morning had grown warmer. Dante crossed the yard toward the workshop, where the utility speeder stood beneath its shelter with a thin coat of dust along the windscreen. He put his tools away, placed the damaged regulator on the passenger seat beside the shopping list, and climbed behind the controls.
The engine started on the second attempt, settling into its familiar uneven hum. He let it idle while he adjusted the ventilation, then eased the speeder out onto the gravel track leading toward the road.
There was enough time to collect the part, finish the repair, and perhaps make a start on the southern fence before supper. He had made up his mind to leave the rest of it until tomorrow, when Raphael would be home and there would be better things to do.
He found Maren standing at the counter with a jar braced against her hip. Her dark hair was gathered loosely at the nape of her neck, silver showing at the temples, and there was something familiar in the patient look she gave him. At the sound of his footsteps she turned, offering the jar without explanation. Dante loosened the lid and passed it back, accepting a kiss for his trouble.
“Breakfast is getting cold.”
“Then I’ve arrived just in time.”
She gave him a look and carried the preserves to the table.
He sat with one leg extended, easing the stiffness left by yesterday’s work. The fence along the southern pasture had needed three new posts, and he had persuaded himself that fetching the loader would take longer than setting them by hand. This morning, with the tools still waiting by the workshop door and another stretch of fence to inspect, the arithmetic seemed less convincing.
Outside, fields fell gently away from the house toward a low rise where the morning haze still lingered. Recent ploughing had left the nearer ground dark and uneven, its furrows busy with small birds. A autonomous cultivator moved along the distant boundary, drawing a pale wake through the dry soil. With the window open, he could hear its engine beneath the rustle of the climbing plant Maren had trained around the porch. He drank his coffee and watched the machine turn. There was something liberating about seeing work from this distance, with breakfast before him and no immediate obligation to take part. He could allow himself another cup before going out.
Maren settled opposite him, drawing her datapad away from the bread basket.
“Raphael thinks he’ll be here by four tomorrow.”
Dante looked back from the window, his attention drawn away from the cultivator making its slow progress across the fields. Maren was reading from her datapad, apparently unconcerned by the uncertainty in their son's arrangements.
“Thinks?”
“There’s a meeting in the morning. He doesn’t know how long it will take.”
“He should tell them he has somewhere to be.”
Maren glanced up at him over the edge of the datapad. She had heard enough of these complaints over the years to know that Dante's opinion of political obligations was unlikely to change with further explanation.
“I imagine the other senators do as well.”
“That ought to give them something to agree on.”
The remark earned him a small smile, though Maren returned her attention to the message without indulging him further. Dante took another drink of his coffee, privately satisfied with the suggestion, and turned his attention back to breakfast.
She smiled down at the message while he cut into his eggs. Raphael had mentioned coming during their last conversation, though the date had depended on matters still unresolved on Anaxes. Dante had followed enough of the proceedings to have an opinion about those matters, and had kept most of it to himself. His son had plenty of people willing to explain his responsibilities to him. He could reasonably expect an evening at home without acquiring another.
“Will he stay the night?” Dante asked.
“He says so.” Maren set her datapad beside her plate and reached for the preserves. “I told him we'd have the room ready.”
Dante reached for his toast, though the mention of the room upstairs brought something else to mind. He paused with his hand halfway across the table, remembering a conversation from Raphael's last visit that he had rather conveniently allowed to slip from his thoughts.
His son had come down to breakfast that morning with his sleeves rolled to the elbows and the weary expression of a man who had spent much of the night negotiating with an unreasonable adversary. When Dante asked how he had slept, Raphael had wanted to know whether the ventilation unit was intended to cool the room or merely discourage sleep. Apparently, it had rattled through most of the night while producing so little air that he had eventually opened the window. The insects had been considerably more enthusiastic about the arrangement than he turned out to be.
Dante had promised to repair it before Raphael returned. He remembered making the assurance quite clearly, including his confident estimate that the work would take no more than half an hour. That had been several weeks ago, and as far as he knew, the unit was still in precisely the condition Raphael had left it.
Across the table, Maren had stopped spreading preserves on her toast. She followed his gaze toward the staircase, then looked back at him with an expression of quiet recognition.
“The ventilation?” she asked.
“I'll look at it this morning.”
“I thought you might.”
There was no accusation in her voice, which Dante found less reassuring than he might have liked. He drew a slice of toast toward himself and considered the work awaiting him. Yesterday had been occupied by the fence along the southern pasture, and before that there had been a leaking coupling in the workshop. Both had required his attention, though neither explained why the ventilation unit had remained untouched for so long. He had simply grown accustomed to passing the open bedroom door without giving it another thought. Now he could picture Raphael lying awake beneath that persistent rattle, the room growing warmer despite the machine's best efforts, and found himself wishing he had attended to it sooner.
“If it needs a part, I'll have to go into town,” he sighed, more to himself than to Maren.
She returned the lid to the preserves and considered this for a moment.
“Then take the list from the counter. We're nearly out of coffee.”
Dante glanced into his cup, where the last mouthful had begun to cool, and reached for the pot before she could claim it. Maren watched him with mild amusement before extending her own cup across the table. He filled hers first, then helped himself to what remained. There was still enough for both of them, and no particular reason to hurry through breakfast. The ventilation could wait another few minutes.
He took his time finishing breakfast, listening as Maren spoke about a few things she wanted done before Raphael arrived. Most of them were small enough, though Dante suspected the list would grow as the day went on. Once they had finished eating, he helped carry the dishes to the counter and left Maren to tidy the kitchen while he went to fetch his tools from the workshop. The morning was pleasant enough that he might ordinarily have found an excuse to remain outside, but the promise he had made to Raphael was fresh in his mind, and he had already put the repair off longer than he intended.
Upstairs, the sun had climbed high enough to reach the far wall of the guest bedroom. Maren had already made up the bed for Raphael, replacing the linens and leaving the curtains drawn back to admit the morning light. The room was otherwise much as his son had left it, with a few books on the shelf and a jacket hanging behind the door that had been forgotten during his last visit.
The ventilation unit sat above the wardrobe, its narrow grille facing the foot of the bed. Dante brought a stool over from the landing and climbed high enough to inspect the housing. He removed the cover, setting each fastener on the wardrobe beneath him, then reached inside to test the mechanism by hand. The filter was clean, and the fan turned freely enough, though the regulator controlling the airflow offered considerably more resistance than it should have.
He worked the mechanism back and forth, listening to the faint metallic catch that accompanied each movement. There was enough play in the assembly to suggest that something had worn loose, and when he switched the unit on, the cause of Raphael's complaint became apparent. The regulator shuddered against its housing, producing an unpleasant rattle as the internal vane slipped out of position and obstructed the airflow.
Dante switched it off and removed the assembly for a closer inspection. The teeth along one side of the actuator had worn almost smooth. He could probably have fixed the vane in an open position and left the fan running, but that would have been a temporary solution at best. Besides, he had promised Raphael he'd have it fixed. He turned the damaged regulator over in his hands, looking for a manufacturer's mark. The lettering was small and partially obscured by years of dust, but the model number was still legible. A replacement ought to be common enough, and if the parts dealer in town didn't have one, he would know somebody who did.
By the time Dante returned the grille to its housing and carried his tools downstairs, Maren had cleared the breakfast dishes and was standing at the kitchen sink. She looked over her shoulder as he entered, taking in the small mechanical assembly in his hand.
“Not half an hour, then?”
“About that,” Dante replied, setting the regulator on the counter. “It's the part that's the problem.”
“Of course it is.”
He examined the worn teeth once more, then fetched a scrap of paper from beside the datapad and wrote down the model number. Maren watched him for a moment before turning back to the sink.
“So you're going into town?”
“I'd better. Shouldn't take long if they have one in stock.”
“There's a list beside the door. Don't forget the coffee.”
Dante folded the paper and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He collected the shopping list on his way through the kitchen, scanning its contents while Maren dried her hands. Coffee, flour, a few things for supper, and a handful of other necessities that had apparently become his responsibility by virtue of going out.
“You've added quite a bit since breakfast.”
“I thought you might as well make the trip worthwhile.”
He gave her a look, though there was little point arguing. She had already turned her attention to the cupboards, considering what else they might need before Raphael arrived.
Outside, the morning had grown warmer. Dante crossed the yard toward the workshop, where the utility speeder stood beneath its shelter with a thin coat of dust along the windscreen. He put his tools away, placed the damaged regulator on the passenger seat beside the shopping list, and climbed behind the controls.
The engine started on the second attempt, settling into its familiar uneven hum. He let it idle while he adjusted the ventilation, then eased the speeder out onto the gravel track leading toward the road.
There was enough time to collect the part, finish the repair, and perhaps make a start on the southern fence before supper. He had made up his mind to leave the rest of it until tomorrow, when Raphael would be home and there would be better things to do.
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