BLUE LINES IN THE GRASS

Ilva reached the service shelter when the soles of her feet already carried a film of red dust. The road vibrated under the trucks of the mining operation, although none passed in that minute. The vibration came from the crushing plant, hidden behind the hill, working on a load that would leave before dawn. The field terminal recognised her face and opened the roster. There was an inspection pending at the Lajes intake point, scheduled for the morning. She touched the line with two fingers. The projection offered automatic postponement, with loss of priority, or immediate acceptance, with shared transport. She chose acceptance. The licensed polygon, the area drawn in the licence that handed the mining operation the water born within certain coordinates, began after the last house. At night, its limits appeared as blue threads over the low grass, pulsing close to the ground. Whoever crossed without authorisation left their entire body in the mine's log. The service transport arrived without a driver. In the back seat, the man from the message kept his hands resting in his lap and looked at his own reflection in the dark glass. His confirmation had expired. The travel credit remained active because the journey had been converted into costly waiting. You came, she said. I came as far as the credit let me. The door closed on the two of them. No word fit without feeding the utility company's listening. The vehicle took the road and displayed, on the ceiling, the inspection route. Ilva had attached the man to the trip as a verification companion. The terminal had accepted because her profile still had field access. The price appeared before the first bend. The screen reported that the companion would remain bound to the incident until technical closure. If she did not conclude the inspection, he would lose return priority for three days. If she concluded it, the mining operation would receive her measurement before the scheduled time. He read over her shoulder. You brought me here to work. She held her wrist against her thigh. The vehicle crossed the first blue line. A tracking camera followed their faces, then switched off its light. I brought you so you wouldn't be left waiting alone. Further on, the Lajes ran between exposed stones. The water arrived narrow, with foam caught in the backwaters. Mariana, the hydraulic operator who recognised the change in the pumps' pitch before the panels did, was by the reading intake. She had her hair tied back with a dark band and kept her mouth shut while she listened to the motor buried in the housing. The pump is drawing above the allotment, she said. Ilva brought the sensor close to the surface of the water. The official terminal showed stability. Mariana touched her fingertips to the pipe. It's lying calmly. The man crouched near the stream. He wet two fingers, smelled his skin and stood up again. Where does this water go. Mariana looked at the hill, where a row of white lights marked the plot promised to the datacenter consortium. To the machines that make the intelligence answer, she said. Every question heats a server, the server asks for cooling, the tower lets out steam. Then they call it a closed circuit because the water vanished without leaving a pipe back. The panel asked for bodily authentication to close the incident. Ilva saw the official reading, smooth as a washed surface. She also saw the water passing beneath the stone, less than the week before, carrying a strip of foam to the dry roots on the bank. Mariana waited. The man waited. The transport kept the return route suspended. Ilva drew her hand back from the iris scanner. She requested manual sampling. The terminal replied with a delay notification and took from her the next paid interval. The man's credit remained tied to the inspection. He looked at her like someone searching for a sentence in another person's face. Do you still want me to stay. She took the sample container and went down to the water. When she came back, her wrists were wet and red with mud. I want you to see. High up, the slope Cantochoro, a small bird that Nael had learned to call by the broken sound of its chest, landed on a cable above the licensed polygon. It sang once. The blue lines went on pulsing beneath it.