“And what do we tell the people whose homes we stop building because of all of this?” Tom asked.
Darius folded his hands in front of him. “Sorry. See you on the ship this winter.”
* * *
1 September, 1 yal, 14:37
Michael, North Concordia
This could get ugly, Darius thought as he exchanged glances with Roger.
“Please, move away and let the workers through,” he urged the small crowd of about two dozen colonists that blocked the base of Michael’s rear cargo ramp. On the other side of the crowd idled a crawler, its bed full of barrels containing pickled fish and jerked meat.
Shouts of defiance and loud questions mixed together, drowning each other out in a cacophony of chaos. It had only been a few hours since Darius had shot down any immediate possibility of reassigning the construction crews back to work in the town square, but rumor and gossip traveled quickly throughout the populace. Darius knew he couldn’t keep the severity of the drought a secret from the small, close-knit townspeople forever, but he had hoped for at least a little more time before having to deal with any backlash. His disappointment grew deeper when he spotted Calvin McLaughlin in the fray.
“Please, let the crawler through,” he repeated. “They have work to do.”
“We’ll move once you agree to talk to us,” one man shouted to a chorus of approval.
Well if that’s all it is…
“Fine. Tomorrow morning at six. Where would you like to meet?”
“No, Governor. Now. We won’t wait.”
Again the crowd cheered in response to the man’s demands.
“Don’t do it,” Roger whispered in his ear. “They’re all riled up.”
“Will you stop it?” Darius shot back. “They just want to talk, not tear me to pieces.” Judging by the snarls on a couple faces, he wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but he placed better odds on his safety being ensured by the rest of the protestors.
He started down the ramp. “Fine. Just please, move aside and let the men do their jobs,” he called out to the leader.
It took them a few moments of milling about to settle on which side of the ramp they’d move to, and Darius had already descended and come face to face with the man who spoke for them. Noxious diesel exhaust from the passing crawler filled his nostrils, and he waved his hand near his face in a futile effort to disperse it more quickly. Darius took quick note of the faces he recognized.
Calvin and Alexis. Jake and Cora. Garza, Camp, and Quinn. Gail Conyers.
“What can I do for you?” Darius asked.
“Give us a break, Governor,” Jake shouted from near the back of the crowd. He had several days’ worth of dark stubble gracing his chin, and bags under his eyes. As he shifted his weight from foot to foot, Darius could see the colony-issued tee shirt stretch across his barrel chest, threatening to tear apart. “We’ve been working nonstop for over a month now on this project of yours.”
“We need rest,” Gail chimed in. She offered her hands and arms in front of her, displaying an assortment of blisters and burns. She had seen more than her fair share of time in the kitchens recently, and it showed. And smelled.
“I understand your concerns, folks. But we haven’t reached our stockpile goal yet. I know you’re all tired. So am I. But we have to press on.”
“A day off won’t hurt the cause, Governor,” Jake replied.
Calvin was next. “And you could at least let us have our fruit back.”
There we go. It had to come out.
Rationing had been in place since July. No one liked it. But the distribution was as fair as it could be. Darius had consulted with all of Concordia’s medical professionals, and together they came up with the standards. Though lean, they were at least nutritious. On good days, Darius was able to loosen the restrictions slightly. It was never much; an extra pear here, an egg there. But everyone shared equally. Darius made it explicitly clear to his subordinates that anything else was unacceptable.
Darius shook his head firmly. “No, we can’t. We have to stick with the rationing. Now’s the time we can afford to give up all that we can spare, and we have to.” The gathered crowd grumbled in disapproval. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”
“You’re not the one making the sacrifices.”
Darius tried to find the source of the accusation, but he couldn’t tell who it was immediately. “I’m under the exact same rationing as everyone else.”
“But you don’t have to go out into the woods and pick berries while a reaper bear tries to eat you for breakfast.”
Darius stood on his toes, looking toward the back of the crowd. He was barely able to make out the dissenter. He was a slender teenage boy, probably about seventeen. Pimples dotted his cheeks, and his sandy hair was a tangled mop.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Kaden.”
“Hi, Kaden,” Darius continued in his most polished political voice, which still sounded quite fake to his own ears. “You’re right that I’m not in either the hunting or foraging groups. But for the last month and a half I have spent every hour that I could either helping build the field irrigation, cutting fish and vegetables, or running errands for other people. I have made it my personal mission to make sure I’m up and working at the crack of dawn, and that I don’t stop working until the sun goes down.”
Kaden rolled his eyes and stepped back.
“So what do we do now, Governor?” Quinn asked. The man who was once Darius’s superior officer now looked haggard, almost broken. The past year had not been kind or fortunate. “The irrigation hasn’t done much to improve the crops, we can’t plant anything more, and we have to range farther out each day for fewer returns.”
“I know. But every scrap of food we can scrounge up is another scrap we have for winter. I can’t stress enough how important that is.”
“Can we at least get back to building the houses here on this side of the river?” Cora asked. “I mean, I’ve seen a few people just standing around with nothing to do now. Guys that were building those structures before.”
Darius furrowed his brow. Idleness was not something the colony could afford. No, we need them doing what they’re supposed to.
“As soon as we can spare them, we’ll look into it. Please, just keep at it. I’m right there with you. This will all be over in another month or so.”
He caught several looks of disappointment from his fellow citizens as they slowly dispersed, talking amongst each other in muted voices. All of them left but two: the McLaughlins. Darius waited for their inevitable approach.
“Give it to me straight, Governor,” Calvin said, his voice tinged ever so slightly with apprehension. “How bad is it?”
Darius crossed his arms across his chest. “How badly do you want a pear right now?”
“Badly,” Alexis replied quickly.
“Badly enough to die for it?” Their silence was response enough. “I wouldn’t put a single person in Concordia through this if I didn’t think it was necessary. Maybe I’m wrong. I hope to God I am.”
Calvin nodded curtly. “I hope you are too.”
Fractis in Posterum, Act II
Gabrielle Serrano
2 September, 1 yal, mid-morning
Camp Eight
“Gabi, stop it!” Charlotte bellowed as she tightened the bear hug she had thrown around Gabi.
Gabi was pressed to come up for air as the hold constricted her chest. Still she flailed and kicked, hissing venomously at Marya. The older girl was still on her backside, dabbing her fingers at the blood that dripped from her nose. Gabi landed a few kicks to Charlotte’s legs, but the result was futile; Charlotte dragged her from the Palm Palace, through the town square, to the Vandemark home.
They were met at the door by Jeanette, whose countenance quickly turned sour.
“Again?” she asked. Exasperation and disappointment hung on the single word.
Charlotte nodded as she placed Gabi on the
ground. Gabi crossed her arms and pouted.
“Marya?”
“She can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep tearing the two of them apart.” Charlotte sighed. “I’m kicking Gabi out of school. She’s not welcome back.”
Gabi knew she was in trouble. Neither of the adults was happy with her, and every time she fought with Marya, she was punished. It was unfair, she thought, since Marya started the fights most of the time. She didn’t want to be punished, and decided that bolting into the jungle and hiding for a while would be a good way to avoid Jeanette’s wrath. But just as Gabi was about to run, Jeanette’s arm shot out, grabbing her wrist. Gabi got as far as her arm would take her, but Jeanette’s iron grip would not be swayed. Instead, Gabi tweaked her shoulder, and shot backward into her new mother’s legs.
“For how long?” Jeanette asked, ignoring Gabi’s attempted escape.
“Permanently. I’m sorry. Marya gets along with most of the rest of the kids, but Gabi can barely stand anyone. If she’s not fighting with Marya, it’s Karina. When it’s not Karina, it’s Caleb. When it’s not Caleb, it’s Aidan, and that sets off Marya all over again. I have to teach, and I can’t do that if she’s constantly disrupting class.”
Jeanette pursed her lips and nodded. Her brow furrowed, and her voice grew quiet. “I understand. Thanks, Charlotte.”
The teacher quickly left, retracing her steps. Gabi looked up at Jeanette. To her surprise, the look on Jeanette’s face was not the harsh disapproving glare that she was certain would be there. Instead, Jeanette’s eyebrows relaxed and her eyes closed for a brief moment. She led Gabi inside the cramped hut and sat her down in the corner. Rather than leaving her there to think about her actions, Jeanette took a seat on the packed dirt next to her. Will was lying on a bed of palms near the back of the tiny home, snoring lightly as he dozed.
Jeanette wrapped her arm around Gabi’s shoulder and pulled her close. It had been a long time since anyone had held her in a comforting way. The last time that Gabi could recall was shortly after her mother died, when Kristin had cradled Gabi and sung her to sleep when she was sick. Though still comforting, Gabi couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong, that the Vandemarks were forcing themselves to be nice, and that the touch wasn’t genuine.
“Why do you keep doing this, Gabi?” she asked softly.
Gabi crossed her arms against her chest tightly. She doesn’t believe me. I didn’t do it this time!
“Gabi?” she repeated.
“I didn’t do it! Marya was being mean!”
Will snorted loudly. Gabi watched him sit upright and rub the sleep from his eyes.
“People can be mean sometimes, sweetie. We don’t fight with them just because they say something that’s not nice,” Jeanette said.
“Yes they do. Mama used to fight people all the time who were mean to her. Like when they kept saying she killed Haruka.”
Jeanette sighed and tried to hug Gabi, who squirmed uncomfortably. “I know. But your mom was upset and sick at the time. She didn’t really know what she was doing. You’re not sick, and you should know better. You don’t hit or fight with your friends.”
“Marya’s not my friend!”
“I know you don’t like her, but you have to get along with her. You can’t go to school if you can’t get along with her. School is really important.”
“I don’t want to go to school. The kids are mean.”
Will ambled across the room and took a seat on the other side of Gabi. “Don’t listen to what they say, Gabs. Their words can’t hurt you.”
“Yes they can!” she protested. Anger and sadness bubbled up within her.
“Yeah? Like what?” he challenged.
Gabi’s head snapped around, meeting his eyes. She glared as fiercely as she could, hoping that he would see just how hurt she was. But his smug grin stayed firmly planted on his lips.
“Marya said that Diego is why Mama killed herself. And that Diego isn’t my brother.”
That wiped the smirk off of Will’s face in an instant. Instead, his jaw slacked, and he looked as shocked as Marya when Gabi had pushed her down and beaten her.
“Oh, sweetie,” Jeanette said as she hugged her tight. It was a warm, smothering embrace, but Gabi didn’t want it. She just wanted to be left alone.
“Stop it,” she protested.
“Gabi, please. We want to help…”
“No!” she shouted. She slipped out of the hug and scurried quickly to the center of the room. Gabi stood up and turned to the two Vandemarks and snarled, “No. You took me from Mama before. You took me from Mama when she died.”
“Because we care for you…”
“No! I don’t like you! You always lie to me!”
“What?” Jeanette gasped. “Gabi, I’d never lie to you.”
“Yeah?”
“Honest.”
“Is Diego my brother?”
“Of course he is, sweetie.”
“Then why doesn’t he look like me or Mama?” she screamed angrily.
Will sighed and shook his head. Jeanette looked like she was about to burst into tears. She stammered, but couldn’t say anything. Gabi knew deep down that she was looking for a lie to tell. Something that would convince her that everything was fine and Diego was her brother. Gabi knew it was all wrong, and she let out an anguished scream as she burst into tears. Jeanette tried to hug her again, but Gabi ducked and squirmed, then bolted from the hut, hurtling herself headlong into the thick undergrowth at the end of town. There was a root cave that she knew of just a few hundred feet from the hut, tucked close enough to be safe, but covered enough that the adults couldn’t find her.
Gabi curled up into a ball and cried for a long time. It stung her deeply that the new mom that was supposed to care for her would lie, and that Marya, the girl she hated so fiercely, would be the one to tell the truth.
Diego’s not my brother. Diego’s why Mama killed herself. I hate Diego.
Diabolus ad Ianuam
Calvin McLaughlin
17 Jan, 2 yal, 15:11
North Concordia
Cal watched the warm, orange glow spread through the dull coils of the burner sitting atop the sales counter. The tips of his fingers registered the temperature differential in the air as he stretched them out close. He had rubbed his hands so hard that they were nearly raw, and he could still feel hundreds of pinpricks underneath his skin from the icy air that permeated every nook and cranny of the building, from the shop floor to the apartment above.
After a minute of warming his hands, Cal curled his fingers around the frozen handle of a small metal pan, almost knocking over his lantern as he transferred it from the counter onto the burner. He then buried his hands deep inside the folds of the patchwork hide blanket wrapped around his body. The pan groaned as it suddenly became a buffer between a frozen brick of soup and the scorching burner. After a couple minutes of impatient waiting and clearing his sinuses, Cal saw the first signs of melt as the brick slowly shifted to one side of the pan.
Damn it, it’s too cold to even heat up soup right.
Cal shuffled his feet, slowly making his way to the back door of the shop where a small thermometer was nailed to the door post. He had selected this spot, thinking that it would give him an idea of the average temperature between indoors and outdoors. In reality it was usually just a poor indicator of indoor temperature, muddled by drafts and cracks in the walls of the shop. Cal squinted, trying to make out the dark red line of the mercury in the poor light that filtered from the other room.
31 F
Shit.
Cal didn’t want to think of how cold it was outside if it was below freezing inside the shop. He trudged back to the front of the shop to stir the soup, finding that only a couple more tablespoons had thawed out. He coughed and sniffed, then rubbed his nearly raw nose on his sleeve. Somewhere, about a kilometer away, the bulk of the residents of North Concordia were riding out the winter in the relative comfort of Michael. Cal was thoroughl
y regretting the decision that he and Alexis made to winter in their home.
Come on, it’ll be romantic, he told his wife in September. I can make room for our winter rations in the storeroom. Throw in a couple extra blankets, and it’ll be like our own little winter getaway, right here in town. No bumping into everyone else when you get up to brush your teeth or change your clothes.
Such a wonderful idea at the time, he remembered. Now it looked like one decision in a long series that might cost them their lives. Cal’s fever was a hundred and two degrees the last time he had checked, but he was the one in better shape. Upstairs, Lexi rested in their bed, just a shell of her former self. The illness sapped her of her remaining strength with every hour, and Cal feared that she could succumb before long if Dr. Taylor’s medicines didn’t slow down the pneumonia.
He swirled the soup some more, submerging the last of the frozen bits beneath the slowly heating brown liquid. What was an unrecognizable brick a few minutes earlier now looked and smelled of rabbit, turnips, and carrots, accentuated with pungent Demeter spices. He began to salivate, and his stomach grumbled a loud and painful reminder of just how long it had been since he had last eaten. Today they could only afford to eat twice. Tomorrow was uncertain, as much depended on Dr. Taylor and her ability to convince Governor Owens to give up another special allotment of rations.
Ten minutes and four painful coughing fits later, the soup was close to scalding hot. Cal took the pan by the handle, using the fur blanket as a makeshift mitt to keep from scorching his hand. After he turned off the burner and grabbed the lantern, he turned up the steep stairs with his awkward load.
The tiny second floor apartment was only a few degrees warmer. Though what little heat that was present inside rose to the second floor, the inefficient slats of the wooden window shutter easily allowed any vital warmth to escape. There was always a draft, flowing from the rear door of the shop, up the stairs, and out the window. During the summer this had been a modest blessing. The biting winter chill made it a terrible curse. The blanket he had secured over the window only mitigated the problem slightly. A small fire crackled weakly in the stone fireplace, but most of the heat it produced was sucked straight up the chimney. If he had an effective way to do so, Cal would have blocked it off as well.
Project Columbus: Omnibus Page 93