Fans positioned throughout the room kept it at a reasonable temperature. Jack headed straight across the room, walking between the bunks.
I followed, casting my eyes about as I went. Most everyone was asleep, but a few workers were propped up on elbows or lying back, magazines or books in their hands. We passed row after row of bunks, each and every one of which was occupied.
I started to ask where my bunk was, but Jack held up a hand to silence me.
"People are sleeping, kid."
Embarrassed, I shut up and continued to follow him. It took us a few minutes to weave our way across the dormitory. A variety of scents filled my nose. They weren't the most pleasant of smells, but they were familiar, and that was welcome.
When we reached the wall on the other side of the dormitory, Jack started walking along it. After a minute, we reached another door and I started to wonder if there was more than one dormitory.
Jack pushed the door open and motioned for me to enter. I stepped into a six by five closet with a single blanket and pillow bundled up on the floor. A rack ran along one wall, eating up almost a third of the space in the room. The rack was filled with pickaxes, rakes, and other supplies used in the Switchgrass trade. The closet, more like a shed, smelled of dirt and sweat. A single bulb lit the room from above.
I turned and looked up at Jack, "This is my bunk?"
"I told you, kid, we're full up. You’re lucky. Nobody else gets their own room."
"Yeah, real lucky," I said sarcastically.
"Be careful in the morning. Bunks 101 to 130 get their tools from in here. I just hope nobody steps on you." He laughed.
Grunting, I grit my teeth and smiled at Jack before turning away and flinging my backpack down on the ground next to my pillow and blanket.
"Real lucky," he said and shut the door.
The light in the room went out a moment later. I fumbled around in the darkness, laying the blanket out across the ground. I pushed the pillow up against the wall and tried laying down. It took me a few minutes but I managed to stretch out fully.
I ended up lying diagonally across the floor, my feet just barely touching the rack and the pillow stuffed into a corner. The floor was cold, and I woke up several times throughout the night, shivering. I dreamed of snow. I'd never seen it before, except in movies or shows, but the dreams seemed real enough.
I stood at the edge of a large field of Switchgrass, watching the group of migrants working futilely to harvest the weed. Snow was falling so hard their shovels couldn't get it out of the way fast enough. Every shovel full of snow tossed to the side seemed to land at my feet. Quicker than I could have imagined, it piled up around me.
I watched, unable to move, as it reached my head. Then, there was nothing but static.
*
A foot collided with my stomach and I woke with a grunt.
"Sorry," a cold, familiar voice said, "didn't see you there."
I blinked sleep from my eyes, clutching my stomach in pain. Piner stood above me, a pitchfork in his right hand. I'd never been looked at with so much disdain in my life. I tried to say something sarcastic but couldn't find the breath.
"Don't get up on my account, I'm sure everyone else will be happy to pick up your slack."
Still clutching my stomach with one hand, I made it to my feet and looked at him with narrowed eyes. He stared back and for a long moment, I thought he might attack me. Then, he was hefting his pitchfork against his shoulder and stepping out the door.
I sneered at his back.
Another man, a bit shorter than Piner and with a beard, stepped through the door, grabbed a pitchfork in one hand and a shovel in the other, and left without saying a word. Several more people were in and out of the room as I rolled my blanket around my pillow and stuffed it into a corner. None of them said anything to me.
My right arm was tingling where I had slept on it so I jumped up and down several times attempting to get my blood flowing. As the tingling subsided, I grabbed a shovel from the rack and moved out the door, brushing past yet another person who didn't bother saying good morning.
This plantation was larger than others I'd worked at, but I knew the layout instinctively. I made my way through the dormitory, following a large crowd of workers as they made their way out to the fields.
The sun had just risen above the horizon, bathing the grounds on the plantation in bright morning light. I looked out across the vast fields in front of me. They extended at least a mile in front of me and half that to my right and left.
The closest processing factory was at least three hundred yards away. Many of the workers were already toiling in the soil with pitchfork and shovel. In the distance, I could see a few already had full wheelbarrows and were navigating them through the fields towards the factory.
We queued up as we exited, waiting for instructions. Jack was standing a few yards in front of the exit, speaking loudly and clearly, his tone suggesting he would abide no complaints or suggestions.
"Okay, you five, you’re on plot 151, harvest." He motioned to a few adults several paces ahead of me and pointed off into the distance. Without a word, they trotted off in the direction he had indicated.
The group I had walked out with moved forward.
"You six, plot 152, harvest." My group started to move off before he had even finished speaking. I followed. We got to our plot and I dug in with my shovel. Maybe if I worked hard enough, everyone would stop treating me like I had Ebola.
I wasn't an Ace. That was for sure. You had to work the fields for years before people gave you that kind of respect. But hard work, and a stiff upper lip when it came to criticism could get you far, and I knew that. So I shoveled away, working the soil. When the wheelbarrow came by, I was sure to work double time to fill it up with as much Switchgrass as I could.
It wasn't long before the sun began beating down hard on my shoulders. Stripping my shirt off and tying it around my waist, almost without breaking stride, I continued to work. Several times throughout the day, some of the women, tasked with distributing water, would approach and offer workers a drink. I ground my teeth as I was passed by time and time again.
It seemed word of my unorthodox entrance to the plantation had spread. By noon, I was so thirsty it was starting to get in the way of my work. I called out to the next woman that walked past, pointedly ignoring me, and asked for what I wanted.
She didn't deny me, but the look on her face as she passed the bottle to me told me everything I needed to know.
I wasn't welcome here.
Once I'd sucked down as much water as I felt was wise, I continued working the fields. The sun beat down on me, same as everyone else, but I shoveled and worked the fields just as hard as any Ace.
I sifted through the dirt, pulling the best of the plants free, and tossing them into the passing wheelbarrows. I got dirty, stained with sweat, and I kept going, even when my muscles burned.
That day, I worked the fields harder than I'd ever worked any field in the past. I couldn't tell if any of the other workers on my plot even noticed. If they had, they were ignoring it. That burned me up inside. All that work, all that Switchgrass harvested, and nobody seemed to care.
By five, my arms felt like jelly and my legs like aluminum foil. I felt like a jack in the box that just kept going, long after its spring had been worn out.
I walked off the fields like everyone else, hungry. The first workers on were always the first off. At 152, we were right in the middle, and when we entered the cafeteria, it was filled past the point of brimming. No seats were available and people were lined up against the outer walls, eating their meals. It was quiet, only a spattering of conversation could be heard. It seemed like most everyone was too tired to talk. That would change, of course, once they'd eaten and everyone went back to the dormitory. It would be quite loud in there for a couple hours.
I got a large glass of water, a plate of mashed potatoes, and something that might have been chicken. I found a place on the wal
l and ate in silence. Everyone around me remained resolute in their desires not to talk to me.
When I finished, I made my way to the door, and just as I reached it, Zenigra lumbered through. I laughed quietly when he had to turn his massive frame to the side to make it through the doorway.
If it wasn't for his bulk, I wouldn't even have recognized him. His face was almost completely hidden behind an armored helmet that reminded me of the one the bounty hunter had worn. His massive frame was covered by something resembling chain mail. A bunch of rings, intertwined, were covering him from neck to ankle. He grinned down at me, having stopped just in time not to knock me over.
"Ay, Seven. Whadduya think? Pretty whiz, huh?"
I nodded, looking him up and down, "Definitely whiz. What is it? Armor?"
"Yeh, the best money can buy. Xo3 battlemesh. Lucas wants me protected at all times. Knows how to take care of a guy, that Lucas."
I lifted my eyebrows, my mouth opening and closing a few times before I could make sounds come out. I'd heard of Xo3 before. It was the kind of thing that gave gangers wet dreams.
The Xo3 battlemesh was produced by the ZMI corporation and was the mainstay of most military forces. It was top of the line armor alright and was highly illegal for private use. You could get a permit if you worked as a bounty hunter or bodyguard, but those permits were hard to come by. The sale and use of Xo3 were heavily monitored by law enforcement. They didn't like the idea of nearly indestructible criminals walking around.
This meant that Lucas was not only rich but well connected.
"I, uh, yeah. You look great. Must have been expensive." I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
"You bet. But Lucas said price doesn't matter, as long as it does what it's supposed to." Zenigra said, a wide grin splitting his lips.
"And what’s that, Zenny?"
"Hah, Zenny. Haven't had nobody call me that in a while," he said quietly.
"Uh. Yeah,.sorry." I replied, my face turning red as I blushed with embarrassment.
"Nah, it's okay kid.” He said, his gaze shifted and I could tell he was remembering something. His posture tensed for a moment but then he relaxed and said, “Just brings me back."
"So, why do you need armor on a Switchgrass plantation?" I asked, eager to shift the conversation.
"Well, I'm doing important things, see? Lucas wants to make sure nobody gets in the way of that." Zenigra replied. He looked pretty proud of himself and I couldn’t blame him. Still, something didn’t sit quite right about this whole thing.
"Lucas sounds like a real nice guy," I said, cautiously.
"You bet he is. In fact, he wants to see you, that's why I'm here. Came looking for you, see?"
"He wants to see me? Does he have a job for me or something?" I tried to keep the nervousness out of my voice.
"I'd think so, why else would he send me off to find you?"
"Where do I find him?" I asked.
"Just follow me," Zenigra said and sauntered out the door.
*
Zenigra led me out of the cafeteria and into the lobby. Instead of moving across the room to the dormitories as I expected, we turned, headed through the lobby, and out the main doors.
We stepped outside into as close to daylight as the six industrial spotlights mounted on this side of the building’s roof could come. The glow and faint sense of heat radiating from the spotlights reminded me of Miami. All our sun had ever been was a collection of spotlights, slowly moving through the sky.
It was chilly out and I wished I had my jacket. I thought about asking Zenigra to hold on while I went and got it, but he was already striding purposely forward.
Mid-October in North Carolina meant sweltering days and cool fifty degree nights. Fifty degree nights were unheard of in the lower south and even less common in a climate controlled dome like Miami.
It felt like walking into a freezer.
Zenigra didn't seem to be bothered by the cold at all. He could have been from further north, or at least have spent time up there. Maybe cold weather was nothing new to him. Then I remembered the Xo3 battlemesh and its built-in environmental systems. He would be toasty warm, even if it was freezing out.
I worked hard to keep up with the pace Zenigra was setting across the grounds and even though he didn't appear to be in any kind of rush, I had to almost run to keep up with him. Eventually, I gave up trying to walk and started jogging.
"Lucas doesn't work out of the main building. He's too important for that," Zenigra said as I kept pace alongside him.
"Does he run this place or something?" I asked.
"In some ways, I guess you could say he does. I don't know much about how it works, but he had enough pull to get both of us in, that's saying something, yeh?" Zenigra smiled.
We were quickly leaving the spotlights behind as we moved across the grounds. The dirt under our feet was dry and we kicked up a good amount of dust as we moved.
"I don't know what Lucas wants you to do, but I'm sure it isn't anything too tough. He's a stand-up guy, Lucas is. Got me this armor you know."
"Yeah, you told me." I paused for a moment before continuing, "Zenigra, why do you need combat armor on a plantation?"
"Hah. Well. Don't you mind why. Just know I got it. So if anyone gives you a hard time, you just tell me."
I contemplated telling Zenigra about Piner and how he had been messing with me but something prevented me.
Something? That’s pride, Sev.
"Thanks, Zenigra, I will. And if there's anything I can do for you, ya just let me know, okay?"
"Well, now that you mention it, I wanna get better at that game we were playing before we got in. You remember the one?"
"The Memory game? Sure."
"Knew ya wouldn't let me down, Sev."
A building much smaller than the one we had just left behind us slowly became visible. I realized it was the small building I had seen the day before.
"Is that where Lucas works?"
"Aye."
"Are you sleeping in the dorms with everyone else?" I looked up at Zenigra as I asked the question and the smirk on his face answered my question before his words.
"Nope, got my own place, kinda like the one I'm taking you to. Lucas needs me at odd hours, so he said it was best that way."
We reached the building a few moments later. It was a prefab structure, unlike the main building. It was made up almost completely of unpainted sheet metal. It had a steeped roof that made it look more like a hut then anything else.
Even in the dark, it wouldn't have taken a Switchgrass ace to notice the ground had been recently worked. Maybe six weeks ago, this whole area had been a working field. All the way up and around the hut. That meant the structure was little over a month old.
Zenigra motioned to another hut, fifty or so yards away, "That's mine, there."
I grinned up at him.
Zenigra rapped twice on the large steel door to the hut. The door swung inwards a couple of seconds later and a grinning Lucas motioned for us to come in.
We walked into the hut and a welcome blast of heat swept over me. I pushed the door closed behind me and looked around.
There were three rooms from what I could tell. The room we stood in was large and well furnished. To -the right of the door there were two sofas pushed together in an L shape. A large TV sat in front of the sofas. Directly in front of the door on the other side of the big room was a kitchenette with a stove, sink, and dishwasher. I could see cabinets had been welded onto the steel frame of the hut above the sink.
The room to my right, I could tell from where I was standing, was the bedroom. Another, I assumed was the bathroom.
The walls were adorned with various works of art and framed photographs
"You found him. Great job. Couldn't have been easy with all the people in there," Lucas commented.
"He found me right away," I said, hoping this would make Zenigra look good in front of his new boss. I felt I owed Zenigra for getting me in
to the plantation. He could easily have ditched me, even after promising he wouldn't go in without me. He didn't owe me anything. After all, we'd only played cards and talked for a while.
Zenigra beamed down at me.
"Great. Not that what I need you to do is all that time sensitive, in fact, it's almost the opposite. I need you to hold on to something for me."
"Hold on to something?" I asked and furrowed my brows.
Lucas nodded.
"Okay, sure. For how long?"
"You're planning to stay until spring, right?"
"Yeah. I was hoping to."
"Until spring, then."
"Uh, okay. Sounds easy enough."
"You won't even notice it's there. It's just a small data chip."
"A what?" I looked between Lucas and Zenigra, confused.
"A data chip," Lucas repeated. "It's just what it sounds like, but maybe I can put your mind at ease by explaining. I've got some sensitive data that I don't trust on the plantation’s computer grid. So, to keep it safe, I've put it on a microchip. All you have to do is let me inject that chip under your skin. In the spring, we remove it and replace it with a nice little wad of cash. How's that sound, Seven?"
I shifted nervously, "I'm not good with needles."
Lucas looked over at Zenigra, then back at me. He smiled, "Oh, no needles. Don't you worry. I've got a tool that uses compressed air."
"Okay, then. I can do that."
This time, both Zenigra and Lucas beamed down at me. I smiled back, glad to be of some use to them after they had both gone out of their way to get me into the plantation. Plus, it was nice to be around people that weren't making it obvious how much they hated my guts.
Lucas motioned to a desk in the corner of the room, opposite the couches. We walked over and he picked up a small piece of machinery that looked enough like a gun to make me feel uneasy.
"We'll put it in your arm. It may sting for a moment, but it will pass quickly."
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