As Sam made her way down the narrow corridor between the table and the units she had to pause to shut the dishwasher door.

“Bloody nuisance,” said Mrs. Appledore.

“Why not get something smaller?” asked Sam, looking at the huge table.

“No, not the table, those units,” said the woman. “The table’s been here since the place were built. The units were Buckle’s idea.”

“Buckle?”

“My husband.”

Sam tried to puzzle this out as she made the connection home.

“Yeah?” said a familiar voice.

“Pa, it’s me.”

“Hey, Lu, it’s Sammy!” she heard him yell. “So how’s it going, girl?”

“Fine, Pa. How’re things back there?”

“No problems,” he said. “The new vines are looking good. Here’s your ma. Missing you like hell. Take care now.”

This got close to a heart-to-heart with her father. When he said you were missed, it made you feel missed clearer than a book of sonnets. Her eyes prickled with tears but she brushed them away and greeted her mother brightly, assuring her she was well and having a great time seeing a bit of the country before getting down to work.

Despite this, Lu needed more reassurance, asking after a while, “Sam, you sure you’re OK?”

“I told you, Ma. Fit as a butcher’s dog.”

“It’s just that a couple of times recently I got this feeling…”

“Ma, is this some of your my people stuff?”

“Mock my people, you’re mocking yourself, girl. I’m just telling you what I’ve been told. You watch out for a stranger, Sam.”

“Ma, I’m in England. They’re all bleeding strangers!”

Mrs. Appledore had left the kitchen to give her some privacy. When she finished her call, Sam blew her nose, then headed for the door. The winding gear to raise the hams caught her eye and she paused to examine it. Instead of a simple wheel-and-axle system, it had three gearing cogwheels. Between two blinks of her eye, her mind measured radiuses, turned them into circumferences, counted cogs, and calculated lifting power.