Testing out the water proofing on an old, scavenged waterskin he'd tried his hand at repairing, Jess looked up at the speaker in the middle of pouring water into the bladder. "Hey." He recognized Jon. Time in town had given him a chance to acquaint himself with the other long-term prisoners; not only was Jon one of them, he had a number of admirable skills that were making him a strong contender among the survivors here, as Jess had gleaned over the weeks.

"That's what I'm worried about," he answered, setting the empty pitcher down. The bladder hadn't spilled its contents on his boots yet. So far, so good. "It's where the town's supply of water comes from. With these earthquakes, if something happens to it, we'll be well and truly hooped."

Jess could hear himself. He knew his grim cynicism made him sound like a doomsayer predicting the end to their little domestic experiment. Restless sleep didn't help with that.

Hard to believe that he'd once lain awake thinking about High Garda assassins and old men with no consciences. Now here he was, thinking about sewage leaks and soil liquefaction, wondering if in the next moment an earthquake was going to level the building. He couldn't die here, and yet every day he got up thinking today could be the day something finally happened. The enemy showed himself, or their luck ran out.

"I've never lived in a bad earthquake zone, but I know the damage they can do. Better safe than sorry."