Page 7 of Pocket Wife

Morning light slants through the high windows, turning dust into bright threads above the packed benches. The hall was not built for legal proceedings. It smells of stored grain, polished wood, damp coats, and too many frightened people forced into one space. Children have been left elsewhere. That alone tells me the settlers understand the seriousness of what has begun.

Vance Corvek stands at the opposite end of the table with two Helix attorneys and a stack of sealed records arranged before him.

Mayor Reeve sits to my left. Lucy Hartwell stands behind the mayor’s chair instead of taking a seat. She has brought a cloth satchel stuffed with papers, old data tabs, and hand-bound family ledgers. Her sleeves are rolled to the elbow. Soil marks one cuff.

She has come armed with history.

Corvek touches two fingers to the topmost file. “Helix Extraction Consortium holds lawful mineral access beneath the designated Solaris Valley development zone. These rights were acquired through verified transfer from Breccan Resource Trust, which acquired them from prior registered holders. The acquisition chain has been filed and accepted.”

A low wave of protest passes through the benches.

I lift one hand. The sound fades, though not from obedience. More likely from suspicion.

“Accepted by which authority?” Lucy asks.

Corvek keeps his eyes elsewhere. “Regional commerce registry.”

“Not Jwoon III.”

“The regional registry supersedes local preference in resource matters.”

“Preference?” Lucy repeats.

I look at her then. “Miss Hartwell, you will have time to present objections.”

“With respect, Specialist, calling our homes a preference is not an objection. It is a correction.”

Several settlers murmur agreement.

I note the response without reacting. Emotional framing, collective reinforcement, local identity under threat. Predictable, but not irrelevant. Communities often preserve truth inside language long after formal records fail.

Corvek slides a projected document across the table. “The original mineral reservation was established one hundred and eighty-seven standard years ago, prior to the expansion of the agricultural cooperative. No residential claim negates subsurface rights.”

“People were already here then,” an elderly man calls from the second bench.

“Your name,” I say.

The man stiffens. “Jonas Pell. My grandmother was born in Lower Fen before that date.”

“Do you have records?”

“My family does.”

“Submit them before the end of the day.”

Corvek gives a patient sigh. “Specialist Veyr, family stories cannot outweigh certified filings.”

“No,” I say. “But they may indicate where filings should be tested.”

The first visible crack appears in Corvek’s composure. Not large. Enough.

Lucy notices it too. I see her fingers tighten on the strap of her satchel.

Mayor Reeve opens a municipal ledger and turns it toward me. “These are settlement tax entries from the same period. Farms in the affected zone were assessed for irrigation maintenance before Helix’s claimed reservation date.”

One of the Helix attorneys leans forward. “Tax entries confirm surface use, not mineral ownership.”

Lucy draws a folded map from her satchel and spreads it beside the ledger. The paper is worn soft at the creases. “This boundary line is wrong.”