Page 5 of Pocket Wife

Someone behind me shouts agreement.

Corvek’s expression doesn’t change. “The timing of arrival was determined by orbital clearance, not emotional convenience.”

“Then your clearance needs manners.”

A ripple of bitter laughter moves through the settlers. It steadies them. Anger is safer than terror if someone holds it carefully.

Mayor Reeve comes to stand beside me. “Mr. Corvek, no one here has received prior notice of this claim.”

“Notice was filed with the planetary resource office.”

“There is no planetary resource office in Solaris Valley,” I say. “There is a relay clerk two settlements over who handles livestock tags, marriage records, and irrigation disputes.”

“Then I suggest your local administration modernize.”

My father takes a step forward. I hear the scuff of his boot and lift a hand without looking back. He stops, but I feel the effort it costs him.

Corvek turns slightly, offering himself to the crowd again. “Helix is prepared to be generous. Early acceptance will increase household credits, transport assistance, and priority placement in developed communities with superior medical access, education centers, and employment options.”

Jessa Quinn, the schoolteacher, hugs a child tighter against her side. “We have a school.”

“And a clinic,” someone calls.

“And work,” says Torren from near the carts.

“And graves,” Eleanor adds.

I look back. My mother’s face is steady, but her fingers are locked around Mrs. Odell’s sleeve. That sight settles something inside me harder than rage.

I face Corvek again. “Show us the proof.”

“You will receive documentation.”

“No. Now. You came with ships, officers, and orders. You can come with records.”

“This is a formal notification, not a debate.”

“It became a debate when you threatened our homes.”

The crowd presses closer. Not rushing. Not attacking. Gathering. I feel them at my back, and with that feeling comes both strength and terror. If this goes wrong, people could be hurt before dawn.

Then I notice the tall figure standing apart from Helix.

He’s impossible to miss. Over seven feet, silver-blue beneath the lantern glow, dressed too formally for dirt and trampled meadow grass. Not Helix security. Not a farmer. Not Alliance military either, though the insignia on his coat holds authority. His gaze moves from Corvek to the settlers, then to me.

He’s watching too carefully to be uninvolved.

Corvek follows my glance. “Specialist Rethan Veyr is present on behalf of the Interstellar Cultural Preservation Authority. Helix has nothing to hide.”

Rethan Veyr inclines his head, but he doesn’t speak.

I hate that more than I expected. A man with authority should either help or admit he won’t. Standing silent while people’s lives crack open feels too close to approval.

“Specialist,” I call.

The meadow quiets.

His pale gold eyes fix on me. “Miss Hartwell.”