The Shortfall

Five days after the ration ledger opened, the cistern had lost thirty vessels.

Sella checked the gauge twice before she said the number aloud. Each black mark on the stone wall stood for a jar. The waterline had passed the thirtieth mark below the one she had drawn after the last public count.

“Six a day,” she said.

The ration yard had filled early. People stood with empty jugs and watched the chalk marks. They had come to see the count for themselves. The same ledger that had forced Orr to allow witnesses now lay open on a board between Sella and Kaelen, its pages crowded with household allotments and withdrawals.

Kaelen held the board steady while Sella checked the last entries. “We’ve drawn thirty-four vessels a day,” he said. “The recovery line has supplied twenty-eight.”

“Then the cistern has covered the rest.” Sella put her finger on the lower mark. “It can cover six a day for nine more days.”

One of the waiting men asked how long the machine would keep making water.

Sella looked toward the sealed shrine entrance. “We need the new reading.”

Orr stood beside the gate, hands folded over his staff. The two witnesses chosen for the ration count waited a few paces behind him. He had agreed to let Sella and Kaelen enter the outer chamber, provided they were washed first and touched only the terminal. The machine remained behind the inner barrier, its access forbidden to anyone who had not been ritually washed. Even with the public watching, Orr had kept that rule intact.

Kaelen washed at the basin. The water was measured out by Sella and recorded before he used it. It stung where a crack crossed his thumb. He rubbed it clean, then waited for the witness to finish writing down the amount.

Inside, the shrine smelled of wet stone and old oil. The blue light beneath the altar held steady. Kaelen kept his eyes on the terminal in Sella’s hands. He had learned how quickly his attention could mistake the machine’s stillness for a promise.

Sella connected the terminal to the exposed service port. The screen blinked, then filled with lines of status text.

“Reserves,” she said. “Ninety-three point eight.”

Kaelen looked at the last entry they had recorded: 94.1. Five days of water recovery had cost three-tenths of a percent. Intake remained in standby. The recovery line remained active.

Orr read the display over Sella’s shoulder. He did not ask her to repeat it.

“Three-tenths in five days,” Kaelen said. “At the same rate, the stored power lasts far longer than the cistern.”