“Can I go Martin? Can I?”
“We’ll talk to Mom about it.” Martin had it more difficult than most kids his age. At the young age of sixteen it was his job to become the man of the family and he was performing his duties admirably. He had chosen the wisest of parental answers: maybe. Whenever I used it with Marcus as a child, it usually meant no, but perhaps it would be possible to involve Pawter in some kind of project. She might feel more at ease if she were part of the group instead of one of the group of children who pretended to keep up their schoolwork. Getting the kids to participate in building the colony would serve the double purpose of training our replacements. Provided that we survived out here at all, of course. We waved goodbye to Pawter and Martin and finished our lukewarm meals in silence.
Chapter Two
Pawter Jones’s adjustment to living on the surface was on the milder side, unfortunately. Treating anxiety was simple. Convincing others of a new reality wasn’t. We had never suffered an abundance of luxury in the shelter, but people had gotten used to certain creature comforts and amenities that were no longer an option. On top of that, the ratio of shelter-born to surface-born was skewed. To put it simply, it was like herding cats. It wasn’t just that people were ignorant, it was that they were ignorant of the potentially lethal consequences of their actions. All of us had spent the majority of our lives in the virtual world. Any ‘natural’ hazards that occurred there were ineffectual. Eliza and I paid attention to Dad, and Marcus paid attention to us. As we picked up on what was harmful and what wasn’t, we found ourselves de facto subject matter experts on a number of subjects. This ranged from explaining exactly how rain and wind were caused to stabilizing those who had experienced such derealization that they had to be confined to their quarters. I found myself cautioning people away from sharp rocks, drinking unboiled water, and from stepping in feces of all kinds.
There was some violence, too. What began as sporadic fist fights because full on brawls. More than one person showed up to the medic’s tent with lacerations and even a couple of broken bones. Accusations of thievery and affairs abounded. Without a true governing body or even an elected leader to punish the offenders, responsibility fell on the individual to foil transgressions in the moment.
It was an utter mess. Each conflict became a sea of “he said, she said” until everyone was so sick of it the matter would be swept under the rug. I suspected the peace would only last until someone committed a truly heinous crime. I must not have been the only one who worried about that as a meeting was called the next day. Every able-bodied person was to gather around the central fire pit for the evening meal. Among those present were several of the accused who shuffled back and forth with their eyes fixed firmly on the ground. They must have assumed they were there to be publicly shamed. I was wondering the same thing. Nothing works so well as a good old-fashioned shunning.
“What began as a miracle of human cooperation appears to have quickly regressed to our basest sins.” Alexander Fang’s voice boomed through the crowd and shouts of agreement answered. “As it has become apparent that we are not willing to come together for the greater good, it is necessary to establish some kind of peacekeeping force.” The suggestion was met not with enthusiasm, but with silence. Many of us remembered our history. The police brutality of the former United States became world famous before the end. The shelters had their own security force in the beginning as well. Volunteers were issued ‘shock sticks’-not unlike the cattle prods of old. Being on the business end of one ensured that you were down for the count. Most of us felt that even that was too much power. But Gabriel’s actions had changed our reality forever. “We’ll have twenty candidates put their names forward. Tomorrow you will be able to come by my tent and submit your vote anonymously. The fifteen people with the most votes will be issued shock sticks and other equipment. They will be given permission to use said equipment to apprehend or detain a criminal.” Gasps and murmurs could be heard from around the fire and I felt Eliza squeeze my hand.
The new environment was putting untold stress on us all, and right after a devastating illness had robbed too many of their family members. In addition to that, the vacuum of not having a true shelter leader left people on edge. It would be all too easy to take advantage of the skeletal system and force your way into power. Alexander had the right idea, but I had a terrible feeling this wouldn’t end well.
I tried to keep to myself most of the time. Engaging in the politics and drama only served to frustrate me. Frustration interrupted my work. Each day became a routine. Get up, eat my ration of breakfast, set to planting. Break for lunch, back to planting. Break for an hour before dinner to help around the colony. Dinner. Evening meeting with the higher-ups. Listen to Eliza rant for half an hour about how stupid the men she was forced to collaborate with were. At the end of it all, I found myself exhausted. I took to waiting until Eliza fell asleep and jogging around the perimeter of the colony. The rhythm of my feet underneath me cleared my mind. Each breath of the night air cleansed my lungs and my sweat shed any
