At eleven fifty-three, she made another controlled attempt. The diesel turned and coughed twice, sounding closer than ever to catching. Then it fell quiet. The crowd's collective breath seemed to leave the lot. Martha stopped rather than risking the starter and allowed the system to rest. June called up that the visible fuel supply was still holding, and Martha checked what she could safely inspect. Air remained farther along the fuel system. She could not force it out by wishing, and she would not damage a machine merely to beat an arbitrary clock.
"That's it," Calvin announced. "You had your chance."
"The deadline hasn't passed," June said.
Calvin turned toward her. "Don't you tell me what the deadline is, girl."
Martha stepped down to the lower ladder and looked directly at him. "She's the one who found the leak you missed. You can speak to her respectfully, or you can say nothing."
The crowd fell quiet. Calvin glanced toward Walter, perhaps expecting the manager to rescue him from the exchange. Walter checked his watch. "Seven minutes," he said. "That's all I'm saying."
Martha went back into the cab. She made one final inspection of the instruments, controls, and surrounding area. The last thing she wanted was an engine that started while something else remained engaged. She watched June step behind the marked line, the notebook tucked firmly beneath her arm. The auctioneer's call drifted from the far side of the lot, strangely ordinary under the circumstances. A red tractor sold. Somewhere a trailer ramp rattled into place. Life went on while Martha sat inside a machine waiting to know whether her future could change in thirty seconds.
At three minutes to noon Calvin pulled the agreement from his vest. His face was tight. Martha saw his hand working the paper but could not hear what he said through the cab glass. Arthur Bell answered him, and another farmer nodded. Then Calvin tore the copy in half and tore the halves again. White scraps fell to the gravel, small and harmless looking beneath a machine he had just begun to fear might be worth something. Walter reached for his document case without raising his voice. Martha saw the movement but did not turn away from the gauges. The clock above the auction office moved closer to twelve.
When she turned the key, the starter rolled the engine through one heavy revolution, then another. It coughed, caught, nearly stumbled, and settled into a deep uneven rhythm. Martha watched the instruments instead of the crowd. The diesel smoothed out as fuel reached the cylinders consistently. Oil pressure rose to a normal working indication. Temperature remained where it should for a cold start. The engine held its idle. Outside the window, June pressed both hands over her mouth while Walter watched the second hand on his wristwatch.
Ten seconds. Twenty. A whole half minute in which no one dared cheer. Then Walter lowered his hand and shouted over the diesel, "Thirty seconds! The condition's met!"