The map curled at its edges, refusing to lie flat on the worn oak table. Margot smoothed it with her palm, tracing the winding blue lines that represented the network of highland rivers. Red ink marks dotted the territories where previous expeditions had failed.

"We could try approaching from the eastern ridge," she suggested, tapping a spot where the terrain lines bunched together like wrinkles. "The gradual slope might—"

"Won’t work." Harrison’s voice carried the weight of twenty years in the field. He leaned forward, his weathered face illuminated by the lamp’s glow. "Highland river tribes; very smart and tightly-knit. Hard to atomize."

Margot raised an eyebrow. "Atomize?"

"Break apart. Divide. That’s what the mining companies tried in '82." He shook his head, reaching for his coffee. "Offered individual families private land grants, education packages, separate water rights. Thought they could fragment the community." The cup paused halfway to his lips. "Three months later, every company representative had been escorted out of the territory. Politely, mind you. But firmly."

"So what’s your suggestion?"

Harrison set down his cup. "We don’t go in trying to change anything. We go in as students, not saviors. Their water management systems are centuries old, and they work. Our drought mitigation project needs their knowledge more than they need our technology."

Margot looked back at the map, at all those red marks of failure. Finally, she nodded. "I’ll revise the proposal. But the board won’t like it."

"The board has never tried to drink from a river that’s run dry." Harrison stood, joints creaking. "Trust me on this one."