4. Rethan
RETHAN
“State your claim plainly.”
I place the hearing recorder at the middle of the cooperative hall table and watch the room react to the small device as if I’ve set down a weapon.
Perhaps, in this room, I have.
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.”
Corvek’s eyes sharpen. “That map has no registry seal.”
“No,” Lucy says. “It has my grandfather’s notes. And his father’s before him. See this ridge? Helix’s filing calls it East Spur. Nobody here calls it that. East Spur is twelve kilometers north.”
I bend over the map.
The room seems to lean with me. An old farmer on the nearest bench grips a cracked ledger so tightly his knuckles pale, as if the book itself might keep his fields from vanishing.
The hand-drawn boundary follows irrigation canals, stone markers, and an old service road now swallowed by sunwheat fields. I compare it against the Helix projection. At first glance, the corporate map appears cleaner. Digitally aligned. Properly scaled. Official.
Then I see the problem.
The Helix boundary uses the correct coordinate format with the wrong local anchor.
A minor error, if accidental.
A useful error, if not.
“Where did Helix obtain its anchor point?” I ask.
Corvek answers too quickly. “From archived survey data.”
“Which survey?”
“The file will identify it.”
“I am asking you to identify it.”
One of the attorneys begins searching through the stack. Pages shift. A data tab blinks red, then blue. Nobody speaks.
Lucy watches me as if she’d expected me to dismiss the map and was preparing to hate me for it.
I keep my attention on the records.
At last, the attorney says, “The survey reference appears to be incomplete in this copy.”
The benches erupt.
I stand. My height quiets the room faster than my raised hand did. I dislike using physical presence as authority, but order matters. Without it, Helix will call the hearing invalid before midday.
“This proceeding will remain civil,” I say. “Every statement is being recorded. Every document submitted will be examined.”
Lucy steps forward. “And while they are examined? Do families start packing? Do Helix officers measure our fields? Do your laws protect us while you decide whether we matter?”
The question lands where emotion and law meet, and that makes it harder to dismiss.
I turn to Corvek. “Has Helix begun physical site preparation?”
“Preliminary marking only.”
“Define preliminary.”
“Non-invasive survey flags. Drone imaging. Soil assessment.”
“On occupied farms?”
Corvek’s silence supplies enough answer.
I activate my wrist display and open the Authority seal.
“Pending review, Helix Extraction Consortium is ordered to halt all expansion activity within the disputed Solaris Valley zone. No survey flags, drone passes, soil extraction, structure tagging, or resident contact regarding relocation terms without written approval from this office.”
Corvek’s face loses its polished ease. “You are exceeding a preservation review.”
“I am preserving the subject of the review.”
Lucy looks at me then, really looks, and the anger in her face doesn’t vanish. It changes shape.
I log the order before anyone can interrupt. The recorder chimes once, binding the action to the official record.
Case status: contested pending full historical investigation.
Across the table, Corvek’s hand closes slowly over the incomplete survey file.
For the first time since the ships arrived, Helix no longer controls the clock.