THE READING ROD

Don't put my backyard up for sale, said Luzia, before the operation's envoy reached the porch. The woman had a reading rod strapped to her forearm and limped on her left foot. Her palm was split by a fresh cut, made on the mesh of the licensed polygon, and she kept her hand closed so as not to let blood fall on the soil sensor. She stopped before the shade of the roof tiles, where Nael's bruised fruit was beginning to draw small flies. I'm here for the territorial update, she said. The Companhia Arco Norte is assembling strips for water investment. The occupant was sitting on the low bench, the dark membrane showing above his shoe. He looked at her hand and then at the tap. The house had received reduced water during the night. Three fingers were left in the preparation container, kept to wash his heel before the skin cracked again. Ilva opened the container and divided the water into three deep lids. One to remove the dust from the palm. Another to lift the blood caught in the creases. The third to wet the sealing film left over from the adapted ring, cut into a narrow strip. The envoy watched without thanking her. The cut crossed the base of the thumb, where the rod would require bodily contact to measure the ground. Hold here, said Ilva. The woman held out her hand. Ilva laid the film over the wound, bound it tight with a strip of cloth torn from the inner hem of her own shirt and tied two knots. The water ran out before it could clean the dust under the nails. The occupant put the lid back on the empty container and drew his injured leg under the bench. Luzia crouched near the fruit. She tried to repeat the envoy's voice, flattening the words like someone reading a panel. Territorial update. Water investment. The second came out so deep that she laughed to herself. A gecko ran along the porch beam, lost its grip and fell into Nael's empty bowl. It stayed still for a moment, then climbed the rim and vanished behind the partition. The envoy activated the rod with her iris. A blue mesh appeared over the ground, crossing the porch, the shade of the tiles, the service cupboard and the dry root of the dead pequi. The screen called it a territorial compensation strip. The name took up almost the whole projection. Below it, a smaller line offered a preference to remain to residents who accepted water integration. Who's buying, the occupant asked. The woman turned her face towards the street panel. The bandaged cut had left a dark stain on the cloth. Ownership is held in a protected volume, she replied. The use is strategic. Ilva watched the blue strip cross the house where Nael had slept in the hallway. The proposal marked the backyard as a technical passage area for the datacenter. The water promised to the investor entered there as an advance right. The tap in the lower village still had to wait for the cycle. The household panel opened a silent notification. The three units owed by the occupant remained bound to his body, but the response required for that cycle had changed its name. Territorial consultation pending. The envoy brought the rod close to the threshold. I need to measure the continuity of the plot, she said. Luzia stood in front of Nael's fruit. The occupant tried to stand and his heel gave way inside the shoe. Ilva held his forearm before he fell, then let go of the bandaged hand when the pain opened the cut again. The envoy waited. In the backyard, the rod projected a blue line up to the dead root. Luzia put both feet on it.