Page 145 of Pocket Wife

Sen objects.

No one listens.

I hand the slate back to the schoolteacher, then take it again because my hands need something useful. “You stay with the gate. Keep the bypass open. Do not let that coupling drink from us again.”

The field workers nod.

I start toward the seed beds.

Rethan’s voice reaches me through the live feed.

“Miss Hartwell.”

Formal.

Permitted.

I stop.

Salo says, “One safety statement if relevant.”

Rethan does not hesitate. “The lower field line follows the old clay ridge. If the soil begins to vibrate, do not stand above the node. Approach from downhill.”

I nod once.

Downhill.

Behind me, the east pipe keeps singing.

Ahead, my family’s lower field waits with something Helix buried beneath it.

I run.

The seed beds blur past. The schoolteacher’s live slate bounces at my side, record light flashing. The field opens ahead, wide and golden under the late sun, beautiful enough to be cruel.

At first, nothing looks wrong.

Then the ground under the lower rows begins to hum.

Not like water.

Like machinery waking under soil.

I slow at the ridge, remembering Rethan’s warning. Downhill. I cut left, breath burning, side aching, mud drying hard on my boots.

A small metal cap has risen from the earth between two rows of young grain.

Helix white.

I lift the slate.

“Node two located.”

The cap rotates once.

A thin line opens across its surface.

Over the feed, Rethan says my name.