Sycamore had nothing to offer. Nothing. All morning to work through the problem. And nothing. Stick to the usual routine, and that's what they would end up with. Nothing.
If that's the way it has to be.
“Maybe we should get some more guards up here,” Davie offered.
The crowd murmured around them. They had been down here a few hours now. How long exactly? How long did she put this off?
Beatrice wasn't even sure that she recognized the people in front. Everyone had that same weathered and desperate look. How many people lived on the platform? Four hundred? Five? That's really not that many. She saw these faces every single day. How is it that she didn't know everybody's name? Much less recognize the faces? She laughed at that one.
Davie looked at her. “Are you okay?”
“Good call. More guards,” Beatrice agreed.
Davie disappeared to bring more of the platform's security to the barrels.
Who was at the front of the line today? A small cluster of people, pale faces and ragged clothes. Stragglers. They were at the front of the line because they didn't have anywhere else to be. They weren't Roughnecks. They were too weak to be Farmers. No one that disheveled lived in the pods.
It’s for the best, Beatrice thought. The Stragglers should be in line for the food. It was a well known secret that the people in the pods stockpiled basic supplies. Maybe the thing to do was to set aside these barrels specifically for the Stragglers. Cancel the distribution. The people in their pods would find a way to survive until Sycamore brought the place back to working order. She hoped that he had something in mind for that. She also hoped he had some contingency in place in case this distribution didn't go well.
She wasn't even distributing the food yet and the people in front came at her with their usual plea. Please sir, a little more G for me? How many times has she heard that? It was like some strange throwback to Oliver Twist.
“Hold on. We haven't even started yet.”
Slowly, the walls around her filled with other guards, dressed in the unmistakable black gear of the platform's security. These were her people. The sight brought her some comfort. Together, they knew how to control the corridors. What bothered Beatrice were the numbers. Given enough time, the numbers could overwhelm her people. Just as the platform was a maze of bottlenecks, each hatch and door gave someone another access point.
Well, if it’s what Sycamore wants. Let’s see what happens.
Please sir, a little more G for me?
It started. One person at a time. One cup of dried algae. One barrel gone. Beatrice could hear the rumble of voices past the corridor. They barely made a dent in the clusters of people, and the food was half gone.
She watched each person as she handed out their ration. She didn't like this. Everything was too calm. The people in line were engrossed in their own conversations. The noise even drowned out the static drone from the ventilation system. For that much, Beatrice was grateful.
One cup. Then another. One of her guards ushered away each person as they received their ration. It was like throwing a person out of an airlock. An old lady held a small linen bag clutched to her chest. One man had a steel box with a brass lock and key. Everyone carried the rations away with something different, something that they thought would protect the food from everyone else. One lady stood right at the barrels and consumed her entire ration right then and there. That couldn't have been easy. Dried bits stuck to the roof of her mouth as she tried to get her saliva to flow. She coughed and green algae shavings sputtered out of her mouth.
“Only way to make sure no one steals it from me,” the lady said as she walked off.
They were like pale-faced deep-sea creatures. Each one came at her with that same line.
Please sir, a little more G for me?
Every single one. It was relentless. And every time, it was the same answer. No. Beatrice sometimes said different things just to add some variety.
Nope.
Not today. Not ever.
No way. No how.
Not in this lifetime, buster.
Not even with a doctor's note.
Please sir, a little more G for me?
If she didn't get an extra ration, then why should any of them?
Never reply with sorry. That would be dishonest. She wasn't sorry. She had gone through this routine hundreds of times by now. She didn't care anymore. She only worried about what would happen when they ran out of food. Maybe the plan was to satiate as many people as possible before everyone found out what happened to the food. There would be fewer angry mouths to deal with that way.
One decrepit fool begged for a second portion. He shouted that he was starving. One of her guards smashed his teeth in with an iron wrench. Blood dripped from his mouth as he was dragged away. He left a few bloodied teeth behind. He would wake up to discover that he didn't get any rations, which she preferred, and that he could no longer chew with his incisors, which made her smile. This also meant one more person later in the line would have something to eat. That greedy barnacle-sucking moron blew his chance.
She wished she knew where the line ended, how many people were still on it. That would give her some indication of how many angry people she would have to deal with once she emptied the barrels. She could send one of the guards to find out, but that would mean there was one less person on hand to deal with any problems that came up. And if something did come up, it would be here, right next to the empty barrels. As far as the people further down the line knew, everything was normal. She wanted to be ready to lock the place down from her current position next to the barrels. That meant the guards needed to be right next to her.
As long as she could control these corridors, then the people elsewhere should simply dissipate. They would wander off, unsure of what to do with themselves. At least that was the expectation. But with a line this long, without knowing where it really ended, she couldn't know for sure.
She looked calmly out at the crowd. Every one of them looked expectantly at the barrels. To them, she was merely a vessel for the scoop. The other guards around her completed the picture. Any one of them could have done this. One scoop. Next person. One scoop. Next person. The only thing you had to do was say no to their questions.
“Not even if you gave me the track jacket you're wearing.”
Maybe that was why Sycamore had her do this every day. She was the only one he trusted to shut these people down. She would need to think about finding a suitable replacement. Davie could do this work. There was definitely an extent to which he was unsure of himself. The man couldn't screw in a light bulb without asking whether it would blow a fuse. But he could ram his fist into the face of any miscreant that asked for it. How many people did Davie backhand with his brass wrists over the years? Miraculously, that was one part of the job where Davie didn't need any guidance. He could shut down the slightest sign of disobedience in a heartbeat. This was why she had him assigned to her security detail. And he commanded respect. For his part, Davie also knew how to monitor the food stores, and he could handle this job.
Until then. Please sir, a little more G for me?
A scream. Beatrice nearly jumped out of her skin at the noise. It wasn't just any loud noise, like the swift crack of a door slamming. It had that visceral tear that comes when too many pots fall to the ground. The noise echoed. It got louder. And it refused to stop past the point where it should have quieted down. The despair left her shaking.
The sound was high-pitched. A woman's scream.
The people in front of her were facing the far wall. And it was quiet. The conversations stopped. Everyone waited for something else to happen. What next? What do they do? She returned the lid to the barrel and sealed it.
The sound didn't come from the corridor. It came from somewhere around the corner. Maybe not even from this level. Somewhere past this mass of people, someone needed help.
Davie leaned in close to her. “What was that?”
“What makes
you think I know?”
Damn. Beatrice expected the people to lash out as they found out that there wasn't any more food. This was too soon. Did they already know? That’s not possible. There was still food. She also thought that if they did lash out, it would have happened right in front her where she could deal with it. It should have happened among the first cluster of people to find out that there wasn't any more food.
She didn't expect it to happen in some random corridor. Not when all of the food was here. If anything happened, it should have been right here. Most of the guards were here, next to her, concentrated in one corridor. She wasn't even sure where the few others were. To make matters worse, the crowds would make it nearly impossible for her to find out where the noise came from. The bottleneck was going to work against her.
The corridors were very still. Except for the ventilation shafts.
Drrr. Drrr. Drrr.
Beatrice picked up a slender steel rod.
“Everyone stand aside!”
No one listened.
“Stand aside!”
Nothing. They couldn't care less about her. And they really couldn’t move even if they wanted to.
“We need to get through these people.”
Davie nodded.
“You six, come with me. You four, stay with the food.”
She smacked the steel rod against the ration barrel. The clang echoed off the walls. Everyone in front of her jolted. The people circled around, confused. She tried to push through. Davie and the others tried to make a path but the people couldn't get out of the way. The corridors were too narrow.
Davie looked at her with some apprehension.
Most of these people were in all likelihood too weak and too weather-worn to put up any sort of a fight, but there were dozens of them crammed into each corridor. If any one decided to badger the Security teams, they could easily fight that off. A whole cluster, jammed into a narrow space, would be a different problem. They could overwhelm her and she wouldn’t have enough space to even slap whoever was in front of her.
She didn’t want to stand around completely helpless. Anything could happen in these corridors. If they didn’t do anything, her entire security team could be trapped in the bowels of this place while someone in another corridor got his brains bashed in. The storm problem made the people here anxious with its periodic flooding, high winds and barrage of brimstone. Food riots wouldn’t help.
Beatrice nudged Davie on the shoulder, indicated that they had to do something.
She shoved one person aside. “Make space so we can get through! Everybody move out of the way!” Inch by inch, they wormed their way through the crowd.
How are we supposed to get through this? Beatrice wondered. Can’t they see that someone is in trouble?
Their hands. Their clawing hands. They kept grasping at the guards, asking for food.
Why won't they make a path? Can't they see we are trying to get through? It’s just food, food and food. Don't any of them have something better to think to about? Can't they realize that some people in this place are trying to help? She had to get past these people.
Inch by inch, they wormed their way through the crowd.
Davie jammed his elbow into some guy’s face. He was tall, easily a head above everyone else. His clothes were ragged, made from old potato sacks. His pants soiled. Someone that size should be on the derrick, outfitted with sturdy clothes. He shouldn't be down here in rags, smelling like he did.
Blood poured out of the guy’s nose, but he just kept on begging for his rations. He grabbed at Davie's collar.
“You have it, don't you?”
“What?” Davie asked.
“I know you have it. You were there, with the barrels. The G. You have the G. Give me.”
Davie pulled at the hand on his collar. He couldn't break the grip. “Let go. Let go and get out of the way.”
“I know you have some with you.”
“You have to wait in line like everyone else,” Beatrice said. “Now please let go.”
“I waited so long for some food. Don't you have some?”
“We don't have any of the rations on us. The food is in the barrels. Please wait in line with everyone else and let us pass,” Beatrice insisted.
“Let go of my shirt,” Davie warned.
“Let go of his shirt so we can move on.”
“Let go!”
Davie tried to break the Potato Sack Man's grip, but whenever he tried to gain some leverage, Davie was pressed against another person in the line. Another person with nowhere to go. It wasn’t working.
“I said, let go of my shirt!”
“Are you sure? Are you sure that you don't have any food?”
“We don't have any food with us. All of the food is in the barrels. Those barrels. Right there.”
Davie tried to get into a crouch. Lower his center of gravity and pull the Potato Sack Man down with him. But the crowd kept him from breaking the man's leverage on his collar. He was strong, but obviously unstable. No wonder Buckminster couldn't use him on the derrick.
“I just want some food.”
“You're not going to get any rations unless you let go of my shirt!”
Beatrice wove her steel rod under the man's wrist and pulled. That broke the grip.
“Come on. Let's get going,” Beatrice ordered.
“Why won't you give me some food?”
“Ignore him.”
More hands groped for her. For the guards. Beatrice pushed them away. How long could she keep all of these people from inflicting any harm on her? What about the other guards, the people that she had a responsibility to watch over? Their clawing seemed aimless, like they were reaching for some unknown desire. They didn't know what to do, but the guards were the path.
There were too many people crammed into this narrow space. Their hands reached out to her. Grabbed at her clothes. Their bodies pressed into Beatrice’s own.
They shouldn't have even bothered with the rations. It didn't matter how long the storm kept up. The moment they found out that there were only two barrels left, she should have called off the whole charade. Wait for some of the fishing boats to return. Wait for the Farmers to harvest some of the green on the sea-mount. Hell, even wait for Makrigga to return from his morning hunt. That alone could have eased the pressure on these two stupid barrels. But this wasn't her fault. This was Sycamore's call. She told him that the storm contaminated the food. Yet, he told her to distribute it anyway. He must have had his reasons. That or he just didn't care.
They were surrounded by people who would rip a hole through your gullet if they thought there was an algae ration inside. This idiot who’d grappled with Davie was dragging the other people into the act. They needed to get through this crowd before they were overwhelmed. It would only get worse if this one guy gets everyone else worked up.
The Potato Sack Man grabbed Davie's collar again. This time both of his hands clasped at the cloth around Davie's throat. Davie pulled at over-sized fingers, but the Potato Sack Man would not relent.
“I only want to eat! It’s the only thing I think about. Easing this pain in my stomach. Help me, please. Let me eat. Something. Anything.”
More and more people turned their attention to Davie, attracted by the Potato Sack Man’s raving. This wasn’t just some weak individual that Davie could dismiss. He was a real threat to Davie’s safety. Beatrice could see that Davie didn’t have any control over the situation around him. She had to intervene. The verbal requests were not enough.
Beatrice took her steel rod and held it above the crowd. That gave her the reach she needed to drive it straight at the Potato Sack Man's head. She swung down with a quick rotation in her wrist. She caught him in the brow. Thick threads in the steel tore at the Potato Sack Man’s face just above his left eye. Blood trickled into his eye, forcing it shut.
With her arm raised and the rod pointed straight at the Potato Sack Man, Beatrice jabbed directly at his eye. It was a cruel str
ike, something that would have blinded anyone else. Still, he didn't let go.
The Potato Sack Man dragged Davie's face into his. Close enough to smear his blood across Davie’s forehead. “Are you trying to keep me from my food?”
Davie tried to reach over the man’s monstrous arms to elbow his eyes. After Beatrice’s attack, it was the obvious target, but the Potato Sack Man was too tall. “Get off me! Get the hell off me!” Davie cried, obviously panicked.
If Beatrice had more room to maneuver, she would have already managed twenty, maybe thirty strikes. But in this crowd, she struggled with each one. She lifted the steel rod again to take another swipe at the Potato Sack Man. She never got the chance.
Hands reached out for her. Groped her body. Grasped at her clothes. She jammed the butt of the steel rod in whatever face she found in front of her. The steel pulled away with bits of skin and flesh. Some of them fell to the ground, grasping at their faces. Where were the other guards? She couldn't see any of them. Too many hands. Too many faces. All of them unfamiliar to her.
They blocked her path. Begging for food. And the ventilation shaft laughed at her.
DRRR! DRRR! DRRR!
CHAPTER TEN
SAGE
“I hate lines,” Sage muttered. She slumped over on her butt, exhausted from the morning's hunt. She should have taken a nap instead of waiting in this line.
“You’re not the only one,” she heard from behind her. “Very different from when only four people can have what just came from the ocean.”
It was Feret Ferrero. He apparently had the same idea.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“A while. I hate lines.”
“It appears that hunger will send many of us on errands we would rather avoid.”
“I don’t think that I could ever be so hungry that I would wait in this line again.”
“We wouldn’t have to if Sycamore’s people didn’t take our lobster.”
“And our snake.”
“Jerks.”
The Platform Page 9
