Neri laid six stones in a row on the survey table.
“This is the load.”
The grower opposite her looked at the stones, then at the rolled map beside his elbow.
“We asked for a road.”
“You asked how to carry six baskets between these two shelves without spending a reservoir turn on the main lift. This is the route I can offer under the agreed survey.”
She moved the stones one at a time across a shallow line scratched on the table’s old chalk board. Beside the line stood a sketch of Drell’s recovered landing frame, cut down into two reusable sections with his consent and a hire agreement that left ownership in his name.
The grower, Nael Rett, rubbed his forehead.
“I know what we asked.”
