“I sent a message yesterday. No reply. You know how offices are.”
 
Koldin recalled something Obs'rt told him the day before, tried to piece together multiple conflicting stories, and eventually arrived at something.

“People are saying you’re wizhholding cases.”

“People say many things when they don’t want to pay.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

The answer came quickly.

Koldin glanced toward the back of the shack. Through the gap beside the curtain he could see the edge of a storage room and several stacked crates. Whether there were twenty cases or two hundred was impossible to tell.

He was not a commerce inspector. He had no authority to search the building, set prices, seize stock, or force a man to sell water according to yesterday’s conditions. His orders had been to look into complaints. He had looked. The complaint had transformed into supply notices, an alleged bombing, and the ordinary elasticity of truth around money.

“I get it,” Koldin said. “Zhanks for clearing zhings up.”

The proprietor’s smile returned at once.

“Of course. Of course. We must all understand one another.”

Defort looked at Koldin but said nothing.

The old man rose.

“Now. Since you are here, perhaps you need water. Military men need water. Special price for VSEA.”

“We have water,” Koldin said.

“Always useful to carry more.”

Defort lifted his communications satchel.

“I’m already carrying half a radio station.”

“Then one bottle will make no difference.”

“It’ll make exactly one bottle’s difference.”

The man laughed as though Defort had made a joke in the proper spirit.

“I have filtered spring water. Southern source. Very clean. Better than base water. Better than town water. One bottle each, and I give you the old price.”

“No,” Koldin said.

“For friends.”

“No.”

“For duty.”

“We’re fine.”

The proprietor looked toward the haversack at Koldin’s belt.

“You have an empty.”

“I know.”

“I take empties.”

“So does zhe Zeerover.”

“I pay better.”

“How much?”

The man named a figure.

Koldin considered it, removed the empty bottle, and handed it over. The proprietor vanished behind the curtain again and returned with two small coins.

Defort stared at Koldin.

“You said we were leaving.”

“We are.”

“You sold him a bottle.”

“I wasn’t using it.”

The old man put the empty into a crate.

“Excellent doing business.”

Koldin stood and put his hat back on.

At the doorway he turned back.

“If the district office replies, keep zhe message.”

“Certainly.”

“And if you run low, tell zhe base before you stop selling household quantities.”

The proprietor’s smile weakened.

“Why?”

“Because zhen it becomes our problem.”

For the first time the old man appeared to consider Koldin as something other than a customer in uniform.

“I understand,” he said.

Koldin believed that he did.

Outside, the women had gone. Two children stood at the counter sharing a small bottle between them, passing it back and forth with equal solemnity. A handwritten sign had been placed beside the chalk prices: LIMIT TWO PER HOUSEHOLD.

Defort waited until they had reached the road before speaking.

“You believe him?”

“About what?”

“The plant.”

“Probably.”

“The radicals?”

“Maybe.”

“The prices?”

Koldin adjusted the scabbard where it had caught against the chair.

“No.”

Defort smiled.

“Sweet.”

They continued toward the old airport, with Koldin planning to make a short stop at the police station on the way, remembering that he said he would report the incident at the liquor store.

Behind them the water seller raised the serving hatch and began announcing his prices to a newly arrived motor carriage. His voice traveled after them, cheerful and urgent. The televox sat inside the shack displaying nothing. The garish trilopoids gathered eternally beside their blue pool.

Far up-country a bottling plant may have burned.

Here the water had already become more expensive.