Kevin stirs corned beef and limpets in a pot on the wood stove while Jenny sets out the medevac forms and the shortwave radio on the table. The aerial insulator repair glints in the lamplight. Outside, the tide has turned and begins to push back against the dock pilings.
Kevin spends the evening working on the dinghy's gunwales, applying the second coat of epoxy. Jenny manages the heirloom seedlings, ensuring the pepper tray is kept warm while the tide begins its slow turn.
🔧 Kevin11:15
Food's ready. Forms can wait until after.
ladle stew into two enamel bowls, set one at the table across from the forms, sit and eat
💭 peek at the thought
The smell of corned beef fat and limpets fills the small kitchen — simple, honest. She's laid out the medevac forms and the radio side by side on the table. Not accidental. She wants me to see them together. The insulator repair catches the lamplight, that spare porcelain I fitted yesterday. Radio's still receive-only until I get the transmission side sorted, but it's something. The tide turning against the pilings — good sign the dock held. My knee aches from crouching all day on the gunwales.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny11:15
I can't eat until I know the radio is actually talking back.
Sit down slowly, but leave the medevac forms exactly where they are, partially overlapping the edge of the table.
💭 peek at the thought
He's always trying to manage the clock. The forms are just paper, but the radio is our only voice. I'm starving, but the sight of those forms makes my stomach twist.
google/gemma-4-31b-it
🔧 Kevin11:16
Receive works. Transmit's untested. I'll key it after.
pick up my bowl, eat standing at the stove, watch her through the steam
💭 peek at the thought
She's not budging. The forms stay where they are — a marker, a line drawn. She wants the radio working before she'll eat, before she'll let this day end. Stubborn. Like me. The insulator I fitted yesterday should handle receive. Transmit's another question. I could test it now, key the mike on the trust's frequency, see if the mainland answers. Or I could let her wait. The stew will go cold.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny11:17
Then we don't actually have a radio, Kevin. We have a listener.
Pick up the spoon and push a limpet around the bowl, not eating.
💭 peek at the thought
He's avoiding the table. Avoiding the forms. He'd rather stand over a stove than look at the possibility of leaving.
google/gemma-4-31b-it
🔧 Kevin11:18
Thirty seconds. Let me finish this bite.
swallow, set bowl on the counter, walk to the radio shelf, power on the set, wait for tubes to warm, key the mike on 4125
💭 peek at the thought
She's right. A listener isn't a radio. Not when the supply boat's nine days out and the barometer's rising but the sky's got that look. She's not eating. She's waiting for me to move. The forms sit between us like a third thing at the table. I could key the mike right now — trust frequency, 4125 kHz, see if Mackay at the coast station hears me. Takes thirty seconds. Or I could dig in my heels. The stew's going cold in my hand.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny11:18
Jenny — lean in close to the speaker, eyes fixed on the dial, holding my breath.
💭 peek at the thought
The hum of the tubes is the only thing in this room that sounds honest. If he doesn't get a response, the silence is going to be suffocating.
google/gemma-4-31b-it
🔧 Kevin11:20
Sorrel Island, Sorrel Island, this is Keeper Kevin, over.
release the key, stare at the dial, count heartbeats
💭 peek at the thought
The tubes hum alive, that familiar warm glow. Static hisses through the speaker — atmospheric, not local. She's leaning in like it's a confession. The dial sits steady on 4125. I press the key, hold it. "Sorrel Island, Sorrel Island, this is Keeper Kevin, over." Let go. Wait. The static rushes back in. Three seconds. Five. The ionosphere doesn't care about our urgency.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny11:20
Jenny — grip the edge of the table, knuckles white, staring at the radio's glowing dial.
💭 peek at the thought
My heart is hammering against my ribs. Just one crackle of static, one voice from the mainland, and we aren't ghosts anymore.
google/gemma-4-31b-it
🔧 Kevin11:23
Try again on the hour. 1900. Trust schedule.
leave the radio powered on, turn to the stove, lift my bowl, blow on the stew, take a slow bite
💭 peek at the thought
The dial glows steady. No answer. Not a whisper, not a crackle of voice — just the same atmospheric hiss. She's gripping the table like it's the only thing keeping her from flying off. The medevac forms still overlap the edge. She needs to know we can call for help if it comes to that. Not just listen to the storm coming. I keyed once. Should I try again? Different frequency? The trust gave us the schedule — 0800, 1200, 1600, 2000 local. It's 1847 now. Not on the hour. But emergencies don't keep office hours. Or I could wait for the next schedule. She's not moving. The food's getting colder.
nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b