“It’s not right!”
“Let’s break down the doors!”
“Calm the frex down!” I bellow, spinning on my heel and glaring at the crowd. They don’t calm — but at least they quit shouting. “Now,” I say, turning back to Fridrick, who’s been in charge of Food Distro since before I was born. “What’s the problem with food distribution?”
“No problem,” Fridrick says. “Once everyone leaves, I’ll begin distributing the food.”
I cast a doubtful look at the chain on the doors.
“He’s only going to give food to some of us!” a deep male voice calls out from the crowd.
“For the ones who deserve it!” comes another voice.
I risk another glance behind me. Marae and the Shippers are all directly behind me, keeping the crowd from surging forward. There’s at least two hundred people here, maybe more. They move in waves, not as individuals, and the waves are pressing closer to Fridrick and me.
“You don’t own the food,” I say to Fridrick. Now I speak loudly on purpose, intending everyone to hear.
“I do.” He glares at me.
“You can’t dictate who gets to eat and who doesn’t,” I shoot back.
“The storage levels are low.”
I know they are.
“So what do I do?” Fridrick demands in a mocking tone. “Give everyone less? Or do what should be done — just distribute food to the ones who’ve earned it?”
Angry shouts, cheers of agreement, curses and screams erupt around us.
“There’s enough for regular distro for several more weeks. After that, we can discuss rationing.”
Fridrick narrows his eyes. “I ain’t feeding the ones who won’t work.”
“Everyone works!” I shout, exasperated.
This was not the right thing to say. Fridrick doesn’t answer — the crowd answers for him. They shout names: the names of their neighbors, their family, their enemies, their friends. People who aren’t working. The weavers, who only went back to the looms because I mandated their strike to end but who continue to work at a slower pace. The greenhouse producers, who have been caught more than once hoarding produce for themselves. And individuals — specific people who have just decided to not work, either because they’re lazy or because of depression, like Evie and Harley’s mother, Lil.
Rising above it all is a new chant: No work? No food! No work? No food!
“And what about the Hospital?” a shrill voice rises above the chant.
“I work!” a voice near the back of the crowd shouts back. My eyes skim over the people and I see Doc, looking nervous and anxious to hear his precious Hospital called into question.
“What about all them at the Ward?” Fridrick says. What he doesn’t say is, “What about Amy?”
Shite.
“You’re right.” Bartie shoulders his way past Marae — who looks very much as if she’d like to punch him right in the neck. “I’m going to apply myself to productive work from this point on,” he says loudly.
Silence falls. Every eye is on him. I stare in wonder: how did he do it? How did he command everyone’s attention so absolutely? While everyone quieted down to hear Fridrick and me, they weren’t respectful. They were waiting for one of us to slip up; they were searching for ammunition to throw back at us. But every single person is focused on Bartie now, waiting for his next words.
He doesn’t speak. Instead, he raises his guitar high over his head and stretches the neck of it toward Fridrick. “Consider this payment for this week’s food,” Bartie says. “And, as there is no longer a Recorder at the Hall, I will take that job.”
Fridrick takes the guitar and stares at it, unsure of what to do. Finally he nods, once. He will accept this payment.
“And,” I add in as loud a voice as I can muster, “we will continue food distro for everyone.”
Fridrick narrows his eyes.
“There will be no further discussion,” I add in a quieter tone before he can open his mouth. “Food distro will carry on as usual.”
I turn to go, not giving him the chance to disagree. When I reach Marae, though, I can hear Fridrick’s muttering slicing through the crowd.
“For now.”
I turn back, my mouth already open, though I’m not sure what I’m going to say, when a scream rises up from the back of the crowd. The mob shifts — everyone’s focus moves from Fridrick and me to the woman on the other end of the block, kneeling on the ground next to a man’s body.
I squint.
That’s Stevy’s body.
26 AMY
I’M OUT OF BREATH BY THE TIME I MAKE IT BACK TO THE Hospital. I’m not as in shape as I was when I ran track back on Earth. Kit stops me at the door.
“What’s going on?” she asks. “Doc just commed me from the City.”
I shake my head. “Some people were causing trouble. Bartie and Luthor and some of the Feeders.”
“Doc says it’s getting pretty bad,” Kit replies. My face must have shown my worry, because she very quickly adds, “But some Shippers are with Elder, and I’m sure everything will be fine.”
She rushes over to help when a nurse calls to her, leaving me with my worried thoughts. I start to head to the elevator — I could go to my room, but I remember Orion’s words from the last video: “Go home. You’ll find the answers there. Go home.” And while I don’t know for sure what he means, I do know one thing: that little square bedroom in the Ward may be where I sleep every night, but it is not my home.
Instead, I head back to the Recorder Hall. Maybe Elder’s right and the clue is hidden in an atlas, but I don’t think Orion would have done something that simple. Still, now’s probably one of the safest times to go, especially since Luthor is busy in the City.
As I mount the stairs to the Recorder Hall, I notice that the little cubbyhole where Elder’s painting once hung is empty. I glance behind me. From here, it’s impossible to see what’s going on in the City, but I don’t like the way Kit assured me that everyone was fine. When people say that, they usually mean that nothing is.
There are fewer people than normal in the Recorder Hall, and most of them aren’t watching the wall floppies or heading to the book rooms. Instead, they’re gathered in clusters, talking in low, anxious tones. Several look up at me as I enter, and I realize that I’m not wearing my head scarf or my hood. I move to cover my hair, but it’s too late. One of the men near the door approaches.
“Were you in the City?” he asks.
I nod. He looks more curious than threatening, but my leg muscles still tense, ready to run if I need to.
“Is it true what they’re saying? That there’s a riot?”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” I say. “Look, it was just a handful of people causing trouble.”
A woman ducks her head down, listening to her wi-com. Their information is much more current than mine. They can com anyone in the City and get info, but I’ve only got Elder. My finger hovers over my wrist wi-com… but then I remember Bartie and Luthor riling up the crowd, bringing me in as evidence of Elder’s ineptitude. He’d be better off without me bugging him now, that’s for sure.
The others don’t look convinced at my dismissal of the City’s problems, but I pull my hood up anyway and go to the book rooms in the back of the Hall. It takes me a while to find what I’m looking for, but eventually I discover one oversized book with a map of the world on the cover. I realize, as I pull the book off the shelf, that there really would not be much need for an atlas of Earth here on this ship or when we land on the new planet. This is just for records, I suppose, nothing else.