Dave had called the valve a stubborn little bastard.
Felix read the line twice.
The notebook lay open in the archive’s safe workroom, held without forcing its old binding. Practical drawings filled the permitted pages. Measurements crowded the margins. Several confident assumptions had been crossed out with increasing force.
Then, between a fitting delay and a local supply complaint, the writer had mentioned Earth.
Home.
A place distinct from the world where he was working now.
Felix sat down.
Ruth, beside him, stopped speaking.
