Page 4 of Pocket Wife

This is a home.

Lucy reaches the front of the crowd before the Helix representative begins speaking. Her chin lifts, not with arrogance, but with the stubborn courage of someone who has decided fear will not be the first language spoken.

I close the briefing on my wrist display.

Three days, I thought.

My eyes move over the valley, the festival, the silent families, and the woman standing between them and the ships.

No.

This will not be procedural.

CHAPTER 3

LUCY

The man from Helix walks as if the ground has already agreed to belong to him.

I see it before he reaches the heart of the meadow. The polished coat. The shining boots. The two security officers behind him with their hands resting too near their weapons. He doesn’t look at the lanterns crushed beneath his heels or the children hiding behind their mothers. He looks at the crowd as if counting obstacles.

Around me, the festival holds its breath.

I move before anyone asks me to. My father is somewhere behind the cider tables. My mother stands near the honor tree, one arm around Mrs. Odell. Mayor Reeve has stepped forward, but I reach the open ground first.

The Helix man stops three paces away.

“Residents of Solaris Valley,” he says, his voice amplified by a small silver disc at his collar. “My name is Vance Corvek, senior project representative for Helix Extraction Consortium. This notice is delivered under Frontier Resource Development Statute Seven-Nine. Helix has lawfully acquired mineral access rights beneath this region.”

A hard murmur moves through the crowd.

I keep my hands at my sides. Folded hands would look frightened. Pointing would look reckless. I can’t afford either.

Corvek continues. “Within thirty standard days, all residents inside the marked development zone will be relocated to approved housing settlements. Compensation offers have been prepared. Each household will receive review materials by morning.”

Thirty days.

A woman near the honor tree makes a broken sound.

“No,” Samuel Hartwell says from behind me.

The word spreads through the meadow in different forms. No. They cannot. This is our land. My children sleep here. My parents are buried here.

Corvek raises one hand. “I understand this news is difficult.”

That nearly breaks the crowd.

I step closer before fear turns into panic. “You understand nothing yet.”

His eyes find me properly at last. Pale, sharp, calm.

“And you are?”

“Lucy Hartwell. Hartwell Family Farms. Community organizer for the valley harvest cooperative.”

“Miss Hartwell,” he says, smooth as poured glass, “I appreciate local leadership. It will make the transition easier.”

“This is not a transition.” I force my voice to carry to the back rows. “You landed ships over a festival at midnight and announced that families have thirty days to abandon homes built over generations. That is not leadership. That is intimidation.”