About twenty minutes later, someone rapped on my front door.
I opened it quickly, and recognition struck. It was the burly, blue-uniformed, bronze-ringed man from the islet care building. Salt and sunlight clung to his deep bark-brown hair, his teal eyes searching my face, a flicker of memory suddenly there.
“Morning. I’m, uh, Hayden Comber,” he said, his voice gravelly, the kind that caught in your ears and lingered—low, unused, or just naturally rough. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, forearms bronzed by sun, lines of his muscles easy to see.
He coughed, looking down at the screen in his hand. “Tanisha Lockwood, right? I’m here to talk about your employment.”
“Yes. Do you want to come in?”
He nodded, and I stepped aside to let him enter.
“What kind of work do you have available?” I asked.
Hayden crossed to the kitchen table and picked up my smaller tablet. He pressed the button at the top. Nothing appeared to happen.
He frowned. “Just a minute.”
His thumb—broad and calloused—pressed the button again, firmer this time, holding it down like he’d wrestled with uncooperative tech before. The screen stayed dark.
“Piece of shit,” he muttered.
Without hesitation, he pulled a slim device from his pocket and stalked toward the glass doors at the far end of the room. His broad frame blocked out a swath of sunlight, casting a long shadow across the floor.
I watched him, trying not to be obvious about it. There was something about the way he moved—efficient, purposeful, like he was used to solving problems without waiting on anyone else.
A moment later, he spoke into what was apparently a portable phone. “New pad’s not turning on. Yeah, I remembered the hold. Still nothing.”
I didn’t know what I’d expected from an “employment officer,” but it wasn’t this: blunt, restless, and a little rough around the edges. Not exactly reassuring, but not boring, either.
He ended the call with a quiet click, shoved the phone into his pocket, and dropped into the chair across from me with a grunt—less from effort than irritation. He sat heavily, like he was already fed up with the day, or maybe with the place.
That flicker of frustration confirmed what I’d already sensed the moment I saw him: he wasn’t from Fairwell, and he didn’t care to pretend otherwise.
“New to the job?” I asked, watching him over the edge of the dead screen.
“More or less,” he said, tone dry. “Though I’d have a fighting chance if Fairwell’s tech team didn’t treat instruction manuals like state secrets.”
He said it without missing a beat, his voice rough-edged but self-assured, like he was used to pushing through systems that didn’t want to work for him. There was a sharpness in him: something a little too observant, too grounded for someone just going through the motions.
He reached into his tablet, pulled out a sliver of a chip, andslotted it cleanly into the underside of mine. No hesitation, no fumbling. A soft chime, and the screen flared to life.
I looked down at the tablet, then back up at him. He didn’t gloat. He didn’t even smile. Just gave a short nod, like the problem had been exactly as stupid as he expected.
He was rough around the edges, maybe even slightly bored—but underneath that, I could tell: he noticed things. And he didn’t miss much.
“Okay, it’s working,” he said, sliding the tablet toward me. “These are all the jobs currently open to new settlers.”
I glanced down at the screen. A long list filled the display. Mostly construction roles, nearly all labeledMaterials Assembler. The job descriptions were identical, and most were located in a place calledIsle H. I figured that had to be one of the other artificial islands.
“Isle H,” I said slowly. “So what’s this one called?”
“Fraser Isle,” Hayden replied, still clutching his own tablet as he leaned back slightly. “Named after one of Fairwell’s original founders. In case you’re wondering, each island gets a proper name once it’s close to finished. Until then, it’s just a letter.”
“So you’ve got a lot of building going on,” I said, eyes still on the screen.
He let out a short breath, almost a laugh. “You could say that. If it isn’t built yet, it’s being built. All part of Fairwell’s expanding outreach efforts.” His eyes tracked his own screen, which I guessed showed the same list I was looking at.
I paused, frowning. “Do you know how many more islands they’re planning to build? This one still has a lot of room.”
