Elgars stepped up to the box which repeated the performance noting an even larger ration balance.
Wendy raised an eyebrow quizzically and looked at the details at the bottom of the readout. “Oh, that makes sense,” she said with a nod. “You’re on active duty ration levels; which basically means a double ration.”
“Why’s that?” Elgars asked as they headed for the door.
“Active duty is assumed to be doing physical labor,” Wendy pointed out. “Anyone that does day in and day out physical labor has a higher ration level; it’s based on 2600 calories per day so that individuals can have some to trade. But if you’re in the infantry, say, you’re usually expending that much every day. So they double the ration level.” She shook her head. “That’s not real well known, but once you’ve been in this hole for a while you learn stuff.”
They passed through a second set of open blast doors and into the eating area beyond, where Elgars stopped to look around.
The ceiling was about twenty meters high with glow-paint along the upper portions of the walls and onto the ceiling that gave a fairly pleasant indirect lighting. The walls, with one exception, were floor to ceiling murals, this one being a southwestern motif. The exception was a wall that was clearly stone, but unlike most of the other stone walls that Elgars had seen, this was a pattern of red on red with yellows shot through. It was pretty and clearly fit with the overall motif, but something about it waked an unpleasant memory. Elgars shivered and looked away.
The room was filled with tables and had six marked exit doors on the far side from the entry. In addition, on the parallel walls were large blast doors marked “Authorized Emergency Personnel Only.”
“The cafeterias double as emergency shelters,” Wendy said, gesturing at the doors. “There’s nothing in them which is a fire hazard, just the tables and some drink dispensers that are pressurized in another room. In the event of a fire in the sector, people are directed to the cafeterias. The blast doors close and internal ventilation goes on; the ventilators are on the other side of those doors.
“There are eight in each of the housing sectors, two in Sector A, two in Sector F and one in each of the others. The ration level varies day by day and what’s here is what you get; there’s not much variety. There are a few ‘restaurants’ scattered around, but they’re not much better and they all get the same food. There’s a couple of ‘bars’ for that matter. Not that there’s anything much to drink, either.”
Elgars nodded and gestured with her head towards the rock wall. She still didn’t like the look of it, but she wanted to know how the designer had gotten the pattern into it and what it was made out of.
“That’s actually sandstone,” Wendy said, guessing her question. “Each of the cafeterias are a different motif. For this one, the designers had some sandstone rubble shipped in and they vitrified it. That’s what that melted rock is. It’s been broken down by Galactic diggers — which shatter the rock by ionizing some of the molecules in it — then put in forms and melted.”
As they sat down Elgars sniffed the offering then carefully cut the pork into tiny bites and slowly ate each one. Wendy was done eating before the captain was done cutting.
“Your voice changed again,” Wendy commented, dabbing at her lips with a cloth napkin. “Back there dealing with security.”
“I’ ha’?” Elgars asked. She carefully cut out a bit of fat and flipped it off her plate. “How?”
“You keep sliding in and out of a southern accent,” Wendy noted. “And when you’re speaking with that accent, you don’t have a speech impediment. Where are you from?”
“Nuh J’sey,” Elgars answered.
“So, where’s the southern accent come from?”
“Ah dunno, honeychile,” Elgars answered with a thin smile. “An’ Ah wish you’d drop it.”
Wendy’s eyes went wide and a shiver went down her spine. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“Whuh?”
“Never mind.”
They ate in silence for a period while Elgars looked around with interest and Wendy carefully considered her new acquaintance.
“Do you remember what a southern accent ‘sounds’ like?” Wendy asked carefully.
Elgars turned from her examination of their surroundings and nodded. “Yuh.”
“Have you thought… would you want to try talking with one?” Wendy asked. “It sort of seems like… you want to be talking with one. It’s the only time you’re clear.”
Elgars narrowed her eyes at the younger girl and clamped her jaw. But after a sulfurous moment she took a breath. “You mean lahk this?” she said. Her eyes widened at the smooth syllables. “Shee-it, thet’s we-eird as hay-ll!”
“That’s a bit thicker than you were,” Wendy said with a smile. “But it’s clear.”
“What the hayll is happenin’ to me?” Elgars said, the accent smoothing out and the voice softening. She set down her knife and grabbed her hair with both hands. “Am Ah goin’ nuts?”
“I don’t think so,” Wendy said, quietly. “I know people who are nuts, you’re just eccentric. I think the shrinks were driving you nuts, though. I don’t know who is coming out of that head, but I don’t think it is the person who went into the coma. For whatever reason. They kept telling you that you had to be what they reconstructed that person to be. And I don’t think they were right.”
“So, who am Ah?” Elgars asked, her eyes narrowing. “You’re sayin’ Ah’m not Anne Elgars? But they did a DNA check and that’s the face Ah’m wearin’. Who am Ah then?”
“I dunno,” Wendy said, setting her own implements down and regarding the redhead levelly. “We all wear masks, right? Maybe you’re who Anne Elgars really wanted to be; her favorite mask. Or maybe you’re who Anne Elgars really was and the Anne Elgars that everybody thought they knew was the mask.”
Elgars regarded her in turn then pushed away her tray. “Okay. How the hell do Ah find out?”
“Unfortunately, I think the answer is talk to the psychs,” Wendy said. She shook her head at Elgars’ expression. “I know, I don’t like ’em either. But there are some good ones; we’ll just have to get you a new one.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall of the cafeteria and her face worked. “Changing the subject, one of the things we haven’t discussed is work. As in what I have to go to. I think you’re suppose to help with it; at least that is what I think the psychs meant. God knows we could use a few more hands.”
“What is it?”
“Ah, well,” Wendy said carefully. “Maybe we should go look it over, see if you like it. If you don’t, I’m sure we can find something you’ll enjoy.”
“So,” Elgars said with a throaty chuckle, “s’nc you can’ be in s’curity or t’ Arrrm’uh, whuh do you do?”
The door must have been heavily soundproofed because when it opened the sound of shrieking children filled the hallway.
The interior of the creche was, as far as Elgars could tell, a kaleidoscope that had experienced a hurricane. There was one small group of children — most of them seemed to be five or so to her admittedly inexpert eye — that was not involved in movement. They were grouped around a girl who was not much older, perhaps seven or eight, who was reading a story. And there was one little boy sitting in the far corner working on a jigsaw puzzle. Other than that the remaining ten or so children were running around, more or less in circles, shrieking at the top of their lungs.
It was the most unpleasant sound Elgars had ever heard. She had a momentary desire to pounce on one of them and eviscerate it just to get it to Shut Up.