Helping a fuel broker steal from an illicit business associate turned out not to be as bad as Lacey expected. Weeks passed with the Swill Torpedo’s crew seeing all but no action except for their barge heists. So far, no unplanned run-ins. Over time, Lacey learned what to expect. She and Rivet knew which of the crew were most likely to do surprise inspections — a discovery they had to make the hard way, with Rivet clinging to the side of the barge like a squirrel as Lacey watched with bated breath and prayed that the sailor wouldn’t notice the rope dangling from the handrail. On those nights, they moved extra fast. They picked up on the pattern of deliveries: one week the crew would move only barrels, then unload pallets of boxes the next. The barge’s patterns naturally ingrained themselves in Rivet and Lacey’s lives.

Wrench’s recovery had hit a plateau. While her companions spent their time repairing boats with Norba’s jackers and swigging moonshine, Wrench remained in pain and unable to walk.

“You’ve got muscle atrophy, brittle bones, and stunted growth,” Hex explained. She squinted down at the swollen entry wound on Wrench’s bare thigh.

Wrench nodded, unsurprised by the information as well as Hex’s bluntness.

“That’s not good to start off with, so the injury isn’t doing you any favors.” Hex clicked her tongue doubtfully. “You didn’t bleed out and the soft tissue damage isn’t profound, probably because the bullet didn’t shatter — I still don’t even know how that happened, by the way — but it did scrape the bone, and the muscle is taking a long time to heal. GSWs normally take a while, but yours is taking extra long because your body just doesn’t have the resources to repair itself.”

“So when you said I’d be able to walk in a few weeks…” Wrench started.

Hex had already started to look for something to shield herself.

“It’s still a few weeks,” Rivet said, their tone remarkably steady. “Just a couple more than we expected.”

“I have physical therapy exercises you can do to make things go faster,” Hex suggested.

Wrench reached for the bottle of rubbing alcohol on the counter by her bed. The other three immediately duck-and-covered.

And so the time passed.

#

As Wrench fought her way to health, Rivet and Lacey spent even more time with Hex. Even when they weren’t in the infirmary, they often ended up together. She was usually the one who helped them transfer fuel from the false-bottom canoe tanks into Norba’s storage drums.

Closeness led to conversation led to a slow but steady information stream. Bits and pieces of information from Hex and the other jackers started to clarify the picture in Lacey’s mind.

Norba had been the area’s broker for years. She was one of the nicer ones, apparently. If someone’s family was struggling, they came to Norba for extra money, knowing she wouldn’t make them pay it back. The asking price for her crew’s homemade bullets was lower than any legitimate seller, so nearby hunters went to her for ammo. Sometimes, she’d even give it away for free. When the quake hit, everyone went to her for help.

“She was hit just as hard as everyone else,” Hex had explained, gesturing to the dilapidated warehouse and half-drowned dock. “But everyone needed her. So she figured out a way to help them and herself at the same time.”

When the barges started coming through, Norba used her knowledge of the area as leverage. The locals agreed to guide the skipper along the river, with Norba’s team keeping hostile gangs far from the barge. It worked out well for both of them.

“If she was so nice and well-liked,” Lacey asked Rivet when they were alone, “why did she start stealing from the skipper?”

“Power just does that to people,” Rivet said with a shrug.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Lacey said. “Not always.”

“How many people have you seen rise to the top from nothing?” Rivet asked.

Lacey was silent.

“Exactly,” Rivet said. “Sometimes the answer is simple, Lace. Not everyone stays good.”

And so the time passed.

#

For all her rancor, Wrench adjusted well to her temporary role as home base agent. Her bitterness at her situation continued to spur her towards success. She and Lacey spent several memorable afternoons braving the Pacific Northwest midwinter drizzle so Wrench could learn to rig, maintain, and and repair an amma. The task itself was harder than it looked. Luckily, Wrench was an excellent student. She barely even complained when Hex made her wrap her whole thigh in plastic to keep the stitches from getting wet.

“Thank you for teaching me about canoes,” Wrench said stiffly, apropos of nothing, one day while the three of them were together in the infirmary. Rivet blinked in surprise. They looked to Lacey, gauging her reaction.

“It’s the least I could do, after everything you’ve done for me,” said Lacey. She tried to seem nonchalant.

Wrench snorted. She didn’t try to argue.

“Maybe you can teach me how to steer the Torpedo,” Lacey added hopefully.

“Maybe,” Wrench echoed, lips pursed. Rivet’s eyebrows rose a fraction — apparently, they’d expected a no, too.

A few weeks passed before Wrench made good on that half-promise. Norba didn’t want them to stray too far, but her protests seemed halfhearted. The three piled into the cockpit and waved a cheery goodbye as they pulled out of the marina.

Wrench didn’t let Lacey or Rivet near the wheel until she was sure there were no obstacles around, on account of not wanting to repeat “The Mini Roan Inish Disaster.” Rivet grimaced and mumbled something about never living that one down. Lacey’s curiosity was piqued, but she decided it was better not to open that can of worms.

It took some practice, but Lacey got the hang of it. It wasn’t that different from steering a canoe. She’d only driven a car once before, but it wasn’t far off from what Lacey remembered of that, either. She did feel funny, drifting down the Colombia in a beat-up motorboat with a MacGyvered Port-A-Potty hanging onto its homemade wooden platforms. Maybe that feeling went away with time.

“You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be,” said Wrench.

“Master of ancient and modern technology,” Rivet added. They watched Lacey with undisguised fondness.

Lacey grinned. “I contain multitudes.”

“Maybe Norba’ll let you use this bad boy for a job,” Rivet said.

“I highly doubt it,” Wrench sniffed. “She’s way too obvious.”

“We’ll see,” Lacey said. “I think the canoes are going pretty well so far.”

“But it would be fun to branch out,” Rivet said. “Trying new things is fun, you know.”

“Oh, for sure.” Lacey flashed them a grin.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Wrench grumbled.

And so the time passed.

#

They found the bag months after the Torpedo crew first got to the warehouse. It was drifting amongst the refuse floating out of the ruptured sewer main near the warehouse. And, like an idiot, Lacey decided to open it.