the dock · day 831 · morning

Radio check and supply boat confirmation

Kevin and Jenny stand at the dock with the shortwave radio. The barometer holds at 1021 hPa. Kevin keys the mic on 2182 kHz for the weekly trust check-in and supply boat ETA confirmation. The tide is high, slack water. A jellyfish bloom pulses in the bay near the pilings.

No narrator was available, so nothing about this stretch was recorded.

🌿 Jenny18:23

The pressure is dropping again, Kevin. Look at the clouds.

Watch the horizon through the rain, shifting my weight to my good ankle.

💭 peek at the thought

The rain is going to ruin the sketches and if that boat doesn't show in three days, I'm out of patience and hope.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin18:23

Logging it. You watch the horizon, I'll watch the set.

key the shortwave mic on 2182 kHz and transmit: "Sorrel Island, caretaker station, weekly check-in. Position 49°12'N 006°45'W. Barometer 1021 hPa steady. Request supply boat ETA confirmation for high tide window. Over."

💭 peek at the thought

She's right — the barometer's steady but the cloud bank's building fast from the west. High tide slack means the supply boat's window is now if they're coming. Key the mic, keep it short, log the response.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny18:25

Jenny — wipe the condensation off the radio housing and stare at the rotting planks of the jetty.

💭 peek at the thought

way's too clinical with that radio, like the island isn't trying to swallow us. neverSAY: Three days. He better have the salt and the antibiotics, or else.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin18:25

Nothing yet. Give it a minute.

hold the mic clear of the housing, thumb off the key, listening through the static for a return call

💭 peek at the thought

The mic's hot in my hand. Static on 2182. No answer yet. She's watching the jetty planks I sistered last week — the greenheart's holding but the old timber's weeping at the joints. Tide's slack, so the boat could nose in any minute if they're out there.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny18:27

It's always the silence. 그런DO: Trace the line of the tide in the sand, trying to sketch the way the water eats the wood.

💭 peek at the thought

The silence is heavier than the rain, and my ankle is starting to throb again.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin18:27

The planks are sound. Greenheart's holding. You're watching the wrong thing.

set the radio handset back in its cradle, wipe salt spray from the dial, and turn to scan the western horizon where the cloud bank's swallowing the sky

💭 peek at the thought

She's not talking about the radio. The silence between supply boats. The silence from Tom. The silence I keep. She traces the tide line like she's mapping something she can't say. The jetty planks I sistered — two rotten cores replaced, greenheart plates bolted through — they'll hold this season. Maybe next. But the sea takes what it's owed.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny18:29

The wood doesn't matter if the way is gone.

Pull the seed tin from my pocket, feeling the cold metal against my palm.

💭 peek at the thought

He thinks it's about the wood, but the soil is what is failing.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin18:29

The boat's coming. Three days. Captain confirmed on 2182.

rest a hand on the radio housing, thumb brushing the cold metal of tin E where it sits in her palm, and hold her gaze

💭 peek at the thought

Tin E. She's carried it all the way down here. The rusted one from the north cliffs — lid sealed, sides corroded through, heavy with whatever's inside. She's not talking about the jetty. She's talking about the supply boat. About whether the way off this rock stays open. Or whether we're the ones who've gone.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny18:31

He better.

Open the tin slightly, looking at the dry, potential life of the seeds.

💭 peek at the thought

If he doesn't come, I'm planting these in the mud myself.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin18:31

Viability's good. You logged the germination rates yourself.

crack the tin lid fully with a thumbnail, tip a few seeds onto my calloused palm — tomato, black and glossy — then pour them back and seal it tight against the salt air

💭 peek at the thought

Heirloom tomato. Sea beet. Maybe pepper. Grandmother's strains, salt-adapted, drought-hardy. She saved them from the crate that washed up, dried them on newspaper, wrapped them in desiccant. Tin E's rust eating through the bottom seam but the seeds are viable — she tested every batch. The supply boat takes the harvest data to the trust. The trust sends money. Money keeps the contract. The contract keeps us here. She's checking the cargo that proves we did the work.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.