Free Minds

Chapter 22.

   Our walk to my home—after Dorian recovered from whatever trance Ridgeton High had put him in— continued in silence. Unfortunately, this was the chance my anxiety needed to fuel the already raging worries of how Dorian was going to react to the state of my house. By the time we reached the entrance, hands couldn't even handle unlocking the door without dropping my keys twice first.

   Somehow however, I survived long enough to give him a tour of the kitchen, living room and even the attic (its door anyway. Still terrifying, remember?). I didn't give him a chance to get a good glimpse of the bedrooms though. I wasn't that brave.

"We just walked through the kitchen." I tried to ignore my pounding heart. "We are currently in the living room. The other important rooms, as well as the attic, are upstairs. What we're walking into is my workspace, what I like to call the multi-purpose room."

   Never called the garage that in my life but it suddenly felt childish to call it the garage/device/.... you know.

"I'm assuming everything should be set up there, right?" He pointed to the only large table at the centre of the room.

   I had to give him points for not asking why every inch of the room except the table was covered with old tarps and cloths. It was something I'd made sure to do during my crazy cleaning spiral of the whole house for his and the other arrival. All old clothes, shoes and toys, the washing machine, the devices I'd recreated throughout the years and everything else that made up the room was hidden under thick, opaque covers. Perfectly hid-

   My eyes grew big when they caught sight of two comics I had forgotten on the table we were about to use for the drones. I rushed to swipe and kick them into my set of comic books under the tarp.

"Yes. Right here." I gulped.

   So much for hidden.

   Thankfully, in a typical Dorian fashion, he ignored my gesture and set his backpack on the table. My brows were raised at the astonishing amount of device parts that were shaken out. In less than ten seconds, the table was already filled with propellers, motors, controllers and all the other parts needed to make a tiny drone for every member of a small village.

"I know it's a lot," he admitted. "And I know you said you have an almost finished one already, but I was thinking maybe with these materials, we could make it better?"

You mean, not look like junkyard tech? I resisted the impending eye roll. And here I was thinking one Zavolonian's condescension was sufficient to handle.

"Even if we made it better," I gripped my hands into fists. "It's still more than enough for everything."

"Yeah, about that," he said, tapping his fingers on the table. "I was thinking maybe we made an extra kind? Just in case."

"Just in case what? My original screws up and you've proven your point?"

   I refused to flinch at the hardened expression he threw my way in response. Why did he get mad at the words he basically brought upon himself?

"Let's just begin," Dorian mumbled, spreading out the pile of devices around the table for easier access.

   While helping him do so, I laid my eyes on a gadget I knew all too well.

"Is that a feather propeller?" I asked anyway.

   I reached over his frame to grab the device, brushing the light blades of the fan and trying not to sigh in awe. I had wanted them for as long as I could remember. The feather propellers were released around the time I began with my remake of Piccolissima-- the drone we were about to complete right now. I remember how much I'd preferred them to use these propellers instead of the one I had at that time. Sadly however, the chances of finding them in the junkyard was next to nothing. But now, they were really here.