Ficlet for Fi (now with 80% fewer typos!)
"She's over there – won't move, keeps insisting something's wrong with the new prototype –"
Hiroshi nodded – yes, he could see the crowd in the corner. Half a dozen men and women were huddled together, a glimpse of crisp white just visible among their gray uniforms. One of them looked over her shoulder as he approached, and immediately jumped away, tugging a fellow with her. Hiroshi ignored them, however, and pushed his way through the small crowd until he saw her. It was an almost an absurd sight: the five-year-old girl, her bright red and white smock near clearly stained with engine grease, was arguing with one of the engineers, pointing at the engine of a large motorcycle, the model that had just been cleared for mass production.
"Miss Sato, there's nothing wrong –"
"I can hear it, I can, it sounds wrong -"
"Asami." He practically sighed as she said her name, but it still made her back straighten up, and she turned from her argument to face him, though her eyes were averted to the side.
"The engine sounds wrong –"
"What did we say about coming down to the floor?"
"But it –"
"What did we say?"
She reached up to her ear, and tugged it a little. "Not in the nice clothes."
"That's right. And you can go show your mother."
Asami didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to do this, but he put a hand on her shoulder, and gently shoved her away from the bike. The girl crossed her arms, but did continue away, even if this meant stomping along a bit with all the force she could manage. The other employees began to disperse as well, but once certain he could no longer hear Asami's steps, Hiroshi turned to the engineer.
"Start it up."
"What?"
He nodded toward the motorcycle. "Go ahead."
The engineer still hesitated, but then leaned over, switching on the motorcycle's ignition and twisting the throttle to rev the engine up. It took a few seconds, but then Hiroshi heard it too – a clicking sound rattling in the engine.
"She was right," he muttered. "Check the timing chain."