Mira waited until the gate’s small movements became ordinary again before she spoke. She did not want the words mistaken for a report of immediate failure. Her hand rested on the observation rail, on the side of the chalk mark nearest the open passage.
“If I stay,” she said, “at least something would be paid.”
Eli looked up from the comparison sheet. The alternate operator was finishing an acknowledgment beside him; he waited until the alternate had the response before moving away. On the far line Mira’s breath sounded dry and close, as if she were speaking into her sleeve.
“What would be paid?” he asked.
“Nara. The flood. What I was going to do to the reservoir.” She said the names of the harms without giving them the shape of a confession someone could accept. “You know what I intended. You know how many people I was willing to put under it. I’m not saying a gate makes it equal. I’m saying there would be something.”
Beyond her lamp, the manual support settled against its damaged seat. She had measured the motion three times. The last measurement differed from the first by less than the width of a nail, a change so small she could imagine pretending not to see it. That temptation frightened her more than the sound from inside the frame.
