I tapped the code into the laptop, flicked on the video, and sent a reply.
Almost immediately, Braiden Fessler—head of the desert homestead of about fifty—snapped onto the screen above the hutch.
He was somewhere between seventy and ninety, his dark skin cooked down by years in the sun until it was a deep mahogany of wrinkles and creases. He wore a tattered, billed cap over his large ears, and his white hair curled down in sideburns to join with a pointed beard.
“Matilda, we need your help. There’s heavy equipment moving our way, about thirty miles out. Is there someone you can call to stop this? Is there a way to jam their work orders?”
“It’s not that easy,” I said. “Did survey drones pass over?”
“About a year ago. Didn’t think much of it.”
“But nothing recently? No indication you’d been scouted by a House?”
“Nothing.”
My fingers glided over the screen, accessing roads, House Brown locations, and nearby cities.
“You’re sure they’re headed your way?”
“A few of us rode out that way to see what was what. It’s a line of earth movers, Matilda. Drills, cranes. I think they’re coming to tear down our village and set up a geothermal plant.”
I nodded, thinking furiously. That made sense. It could be House Orange, out to throw down a mining operation, but all the records and scans we could tap into indicated there was nothing valuable beneath the Fesslers’ parched soil.
There was, however, a strong natural heat source—geothermal—that could be rigged up as a power generator to supplement the nearest city.
“What are we going to do, Matilda?” Braiden asked. “We have children here—babies. There’s nowhere else for us. This is our home. Our land.”
“They’re thirty miles out?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I flipped to the satellite feed, got a lock, and pulled up the eastern edge of Nevada.
“I see them. About twenty vehicles.” I dialed it in, couldn’t see any colors or House markings. “Don’t know who’s behind it. But I’ll find out. Let me track this as far as I can. If we know which House is moving your way and why?—”
“We know why,” he said.
“No, we suspect they want the thermal. But it could be other things they’re coming for. Mining. Waste dump. Data hub.”
His dark eyes watered, but he nodded. “When will you know? When will you tell us how to stop them?”
He wanted hope and assurances I did not have to offer.
“The equipment is big and slow moving. I’ll have something by tomorrow morning. Just hold through the night. If there’s no way to stop them . . .”
“No,” he said, cutting me off. “We have run enough. We have been pushed away from green fields and safe hollows. We have escaped the slavery of our generations to the Houses. We will not leave our land. Not this time.”
I’d heard that before. So many people in House Brown were tired of running. They wanted to stand and fight, even if that meant losing everything.
“I’ll do what I can to find a solution,” I said. “In the meantime, I want you to tell everyone to pack a bag.”
“But—”
“Mr. Fessler, please,” I said, raising my voice just a bit. “We’ll do everything we can to find a way to turn them back. But if we fail, I want your word that you will not put your childrens’ lives in danger. I want your word that you’ll tell their mothers and fathers to run. I want your word that you’ll go with them.”
“Of course,” he said, dropping his gaze.
“Good,” I said. “Give me the evening and night. I’ll contact you in the morning. Call me if the situation changes in any way.”
