“I’m not offering a trade,” he said. “I’m offering sealant. Because your pump is broken and I have what you need to fix it.”
“And you want nothing in return.”
“I want you to not die of dehydration before you decide whether to trust me.” That almost-expression again. Not quite a smile. “Self-interest.”
I should have said no. Should have sent him back to his ship and figured out the pump on my own. That’s what I would havedone yesterday. That’s what the smart, careful part of me was screaming to do right now.
But my pump was broken. And he had what I needed.
“Get the sealant,” I said. “And don’t touch anything else in that ship of yours. If I see you pulling out a weapon, Turnip eats you.”
“Understood.”
He left. I sat in the spreading water and waited.
He came back ten minutes later with a small tube of compound. Handed it to me without comment. Then crouched beside the pump again and held the housing while I applied the sealant to the cracked seal.
We worked in silence. The compound set quickly. I reassembled the housing, cleared the last of the sediment from the lines, and powered up the pump.
It hummed to life. Steady. Strong.
“Thank you,” I said. The words felt strange in my mouth.
He nodded once. Stood. Didn’t push his advantage. Didn’t say ‘see, you need me’ or anything else that would have made me want to shoot him.
“I’ll be at my ship,” he said. “If you need anything else.”
He walked out of the pump house. I watched him go, same as before. Turnip materialized at my side, pressing against my leg.
“I know,” I told him. “I don’t trust him either.”
But I didn’t tell the Vinduthi to leave.
I went back to my chores, and he went back to his ship, and the uneasy silence stretched between us.
KALLUM
Ispent the next day watching her work.
Not surveillance. Not exactly. But I kept theTuretsala’sexternal sensors trained on the compound, tracking her movements as she went about her routines. Feeding the grazers. Checking fence lines. Hauling equipment between outbuildings.
She never looked toward my ship. Never acknowledged I was there. But she knew. The way she positioned herself, always keeping something solid between us. The way Turnip patrolled the perimeter with his head turned toward my position.
They were waiting for me to leave.
I didn’t leave.
The afternoon sun slanted through the viewport, warming the cockpit. I’d powered down nonessential systems to conserve fuel, which meant no climate control. The air grew stale. My muscles cramped from sitting too long in the pilot’s chair.
I could have been comfortable. Could have walked the perimeter, stretched my legs, breathed fresh air. But that would mean approaching the compound, and I’d promised myself I wouldn’t push.
So I sat. And watched. And waited.
Around midday, she disappeared into the barn for almost an hour. When she emerged, her shoulders were tight, her movements sharp with frustration. Something was wrong.
I zoomed the sensors, watched her pace the length of the barn, stop, pace again. She pulled a comm unit from her belt and stared at it for a long moment before shoving it back.
No one to call. No one who would come.
