Free Stranger by Sherwood Smith

burner, a water pump, a sink, and a table covered with glass bottles and containers.
    A narrow bunk had a complete engine resting on the patchwork coverlet. A side table was piled with yellowed pages out of old manuals. A prospector could spend his entire life searching and never find half this stuff. He couldn’t see the entire room from where he was, but he spotted part of someone’s back. He moved to get a better look.
    A teenage girl crouched over his book like a vulture.
    He charged around to the door and flung it open. “Give me back my book!”
    The girl blinked up at him. She didn’t move to defend herself, or even to protect the book. “Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Do you know how to read this?”
    Ross breathed hard, trying to contain his anger. “It’s mine.”
    â€œI know.” She patted the air between them, as if that would make everything okay. “I know! I’m not stealing. I’m only looking. I meant to return it before you noticed it was gone. My father didn’t think you’d wake up till halfway through tomorrow.”
    â€œWho else knows about it?” he demanded.
    The abacus and slide rule on the girl’s belt rattled as she clutched the book. “No one! Not even Dad.” He reached for it. She didn’t let go but turned it around so they both could see it. “Here, check this out.” It was open to a diagram that had also intrigued him, of a crossbow that shot six arrows at once.
    His anger died away. She seemed excited but not greedy. He waited.
    She smiled back from a round face framed by short black hair. Friendly brown eyes examined him from behind square wire-rimmed glasses. “Isn’t it wonderful? I wish I knew how to read that script. Can you?”
    The back of his neck itched with embarrassment. Obviously she could read every scrap of paper in the room. No way would he admit that he couldn’t.
    Instead, he changed the subject. “Are you a prospector too? It looks like there’s great pickings around here.” He paused. “Uh, where is ‘here’?”
    â€œLas Anclas. The last town before you hit the ocean.”
    â€œOh, what the maps call World’s End.”
    â€œWell, I’m the chief mechanic of World’s End.” She smiled proudly. “But really, I’m an engineer.”
    Usually Ross told little about himself. It was safer that way, and most people didn’t care. But he’d never met an engineer his age, and the urge to talk to her was irresistible. He tapped the book. “I almost got killed by people trying to get this thing. Do you know what it is?”
    â€œNot exactly, but I’d love to find out. Do you know how rare it is to find a complete book with diagrams?”
    â€œYeah. I’m a prospector.”
    â€œI know! I saw your tools.” She sighed with envy. “You must see cool stuff all the time.”
    â€œNot really. A good find is always exciting.” Ross indicated the engine on the bed. “Like that. That’s complete, isn’t it? I’ve never seen one in such good shape.”
    The girl beamed. “You noticed!”
    â€œIt’s a treasure. Does it work?”
    â€œIt will when I’m done with it,” she assured him, giving the engine a familiar pat. “That is, if I can find the right kind of fuel.” She picked up a yellowed page from the table. “Here’s part of the schematics. Have you ever seen another manual for internal combustion engines? Or even a piece of one?”
    Ross tried to sound out the first few letters, but hundreds and hundreds of letters followed those. It was hopeless. He raised his eyes to find her watching. She knew what he’d been doing. His face heated up. But she didn’t mock him, or even give him a look like she thought he was stupid.
    â€œMy name’s Mia Lee,” she said. “What’s yours?”
    â€œRoss Juarez. Do