Go, go home before it gets dark - 20 chapters

Lights are out in a dystopian world of scarcity

It was sad, really. Back in the day, everything had been aglow with lights. The walkways were outlined, the buildings shining, the stars invisible. But now it was dark. The moon peeked out from the clouds, its white light reflected in the windows. It was a bit eerie walking through the park, passing the cold black glass. She pulled her coat tighter and walked faster. At least when she got home, she could put a match to her candle and eat in its flickering. She remembered when it had changed, all so suddenly. From worrying about things that now seemed trivial - hitting sales targets for things no one really cared about, to wondering if everything was coming to an end. People had said it'll be fine. It's always been fine before. Yeah, right. What was it those hedge fund people say - past performance is no guarantee of future returns.

But the lights weren't just out in their neighborhood. It was bigger than that. Maybe it had started when people decided they'd rather see reality TV take over real reality. Only chumps and suckers did what they were told. Community was bullshit - just a con to get you to give up your rights and let other people have things. Those who knew, who did their own research found their own answers. And the more people decided to opt out of civilization and take what they wanted, the less there was to take.

People were shooed out of their offices when the daylight ended. Go, go home, before it gets dark. She was glad that she'd bought that hand-cranked phone charger. It had seemed paranoid at the time, but now here we were and it had come in handy when she'd been too tired to charge it at home. The office had covered all the outlets and hard wired in the few things people needed to work. No more casually charging phones or leaving lights on. She'd heard from someone at dinner that their cousin had been fired after security found she'd left her computer on when she went home. And now she couldn't find any work other than pedaling a bike for electricity.  She smiled ruefully, remembering when Black Mirror episodes had seemed so farfetched. How had things gotten to this stage? What's next? Pods like in The Matrix?

One Saturday, she'd walked over the rich part of town. There it looked like it used to. Huge swathes of green grass watered with who knows what. It was rumoured that the rich had direct lines to the lake, pumping water for their gardens and their pools. She marveled thinking about the waste. Security guards in front of huge houses. Each covered with solar panels to power their heat pumps, charge their cars, and run their appliances. She lingered outside one house with a huge picture window through which she watched the blue glow of a giant television. She wondered if they were watching stored downloads or if there were still people making new movies. The government had denounced any diversion of resources for frivolous purposes as treason. Every kilowatt had to go towards the big pumps that kept the seawater away from the cities.

She had a room that came with her job. It was just a tiny studio, but she was grateful. The room came with basic heat, a tank that was filled once a day with her water ration, and a bike to charge a battery from which she could power lights and her phone. There was a communal kitchen that made food for everyone in the building. She never minded when she was assigned to join the cooking team. It was warm when they were cooking and sometimes she could sneak some extra food. She liked working together with the others, chopping, kneading, cooking, filling bowls, even the clean-up. On some days, she would pick up her ration on a covered plate and take it to her room. They weren't any common spaces in the building - it would be wasteful to have light and heat them. She thought about asking to go to one of the newer buildings that was built for communal living with large dormitories. She'd heard that they were a bit warmer, just from having so many people together. But she'd also heard that people quickly formed into tribes and sometimes there was clashes as people aped the made-up disputes that churned through the socials. Trade-offs. So far, she was getting enough interaction at work. And there everyone had to pull together, a bit like working in the kitchen.

She'd heard a rumour that their work wasn't anything very real. More of a shadow play, people going through the motions. But they all took it very seriously. Quarterly reports. Governance reviews. Risk studies. Monitoring and evaluation. Strategy papers. Vision statements. You had to take seriously or it all dissolved into airy fairy nothings, like spun sugar in the rain. Really, did it matter? She went to work everyday. They gave her food and shelter and something to do with other people who took it seriously too. Still, it would be nice to again, someday, see a street ablaze with lights, filled with people laughing and smiling, as they went to restaurants and theatres and cinemas, enjoying each other's company in the innocence of believing it'll all be fine. But until then, she had to get home before the last portion of dinner had been taken. And, there is light now, just the more subtle silver of the moon. Indifferent to the scurrying and worrying. Eternally cool, reflecting the sun into the dark.

Chapter 2:

She ran up the steps, wrenched open the door and flew to the kitchen. Excellent! There were a couple of plates of food left. You're late - what happened? Oh, we're trying to get all our numbers in order for the big boss and turns out the guy who's supposed to have it in hand very much didn't. But we're working on it. Glad I made it in time to get dinner. I see a couple of other plates. Who else is missing? Ted from 7th floor and Reggie from 3rd. Reggie works at the pumping station and maybe all the rain today confused the pumps and he had to stay late. Ted, well, he's often gone on mystery trips he won't talk about. She perked up at that. If he doesn't show and you kitchen crew don't need it, I'd be happy to clean his plate for you. She figured it was a long shot, but maybe the crew had skimmed off enough when they were cooking that they didn't need it. He nodded and she left with the plate.

When she got to her room, she balanced the plate and her bag, while she dug around for the key. Geez, why didn't they get the same biometeric locks like they had at work. Oh, yeah, they take energy, while a key is just an inert hunk of metal. She opened the door and felt for the switch. She'd made sure to leave a little charge in the morning, so she wouldn't be in the dark when she got home. And, click, and light. It was just a dim trickle, but enough for her to put the plate on the ledge that served as her dining table, hang up her coat, change into her home clothes and jump on the bike.

She pedaled furiously, thinking about the idiot who'd given her a report that he claimed was ready to go, but riddled with basic errors. She ticked them off in her head and the anger kept her going. Quickly the light got brighter and she watched the charge indicator on the battery. Sometimes she would eat and pedal at the same time. She liked the irony of ingesting calories and creating energy together, the food like a current going directly into the battery. But tonight, she decided to pedal out her anger and then relax and eat slowly, paying attention to the sensations and flavors. She'd seen the kitchen roster and knew this crew usually managed to turn the sorry pile of ingredients they got to work with into something tasty.

When she finally started feeling sorry for the idiot instead of reviling him, she checked the level. Great - almost full. She never filled it completely. Anything beyond the battery's capacity went into the grid for the house, which was applauded, but not rewarded with anything more than a shout out on the socials. That, of course, pissed everyone else off, since it would be accompanied by exhortations for the rest of the building to do the same. She barely got enough calories anyway to fill the battery, walk to and from work, and be able to do a decent job at her desk. There was nothing to spare. Sometimes though if someone in the building wasn't well and couldn't fill their own batteries, she would volunteer to pedal a bit, so the sick person could have light. Ultimately, she was still a good soldier, supporting the community, even if only the community in the building.

She wiped her brow and sat down. The food was cold, but that was ok. Better to have zen-ed out from the pedaling and eat with a clear mind. Dinner was quite good. Where had they managed to find something with actual flavor? She'd heard that there was some foraging going on among the weeds that filled the cracks of the road behind the building. Maybe that accounted for the tangy sour notes. She wiped the plate with the slice of grayish bread, making sure to get every smear. She sighed with the pleasure of a decent meal, a full stomach, a clear mind and a bright light.

There was a tap on the door. Maybe it was the extra plate! Her face fell, when she opened the door to see Bernice from next store. Good evening. Could you come? I think there's been an accident. What? I heard my neighbor biking, the sound stopped and then nothing since then. I think he's had an accident, please come. She followed Bernice to the end of the hall. They rapped on the door. Hello? Are you ok? The noise brought other people out into the hall, watching solemnly. Right, she said, I'll go get the super. She walked down to the ground floor and tapped at his door. Hello, Frank? We think there may be a problem. We're up on fourth. Frank grabbed his bag and they climbed up the stairs. Who is it? Well, she explained, Bernice's neighbor, Sam. She thinks something happened to him. Frank unlocked the door and they peered into a small room identical to hers and everyone else's. Sam was slumped over his bike. Frank went in, checked his pulse and shook his head. I'll call it in. He checked the battery, which was nearly full from the efforts of Sam's parting minutes. He disconnected it and the room immediately went dark. He put it in his bag and locked the door behind him as he left the room.

When she got back to her room, she saw she'd left the light on. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Fortunately she hadn't lost too much, but it was low enough that she needed to top it up to get her phone charged. She climbed wearily on the bike again, this time as she pushed, all she could think about was Sam's dead body held in the bike's embrace, like it was sucking the last few watts out of him before turning him over to the recycler. After a few minutes, she climbed off and got ready for bed. Another tap on the door. What now? Oh, thank you very much! It was the last plate of food. She ate it, pausing to enjoy how it recharged her. And then she went to bed.

Chapter 3:

She woke up before the alarm went up. That was always better. Less jarring and she could turn it off before it used up a little bit of its precious charge. Like everyone she knew, she paid close attention to what she did with her phone. Admittedly, it didn't take much to charge it, but it was bad form to be hovering over one's phone scrolling mindlessly or tapping at one of those matching games. She remembered the hours she'd spent pecking around on a screen like a chicken hunting for worms. Everyone had just taken things for granted. There was some worry about what if we ran out of oil that transmogrified into whoa, don't use up all the oil, but by then it was too late.

Today wasn't her day to shower, so she just put on her uniform. Sometimes she'd make the bed, which was really just throwing the blanket so it covered the whole mattress and not just crumpled as she'd left it. She preferred to have her room neat and not looking like a crime scene when she came home. She dashed down to grab her breakfast ration, hoping for some fresh fruit to go with the usual scramble from powered milk and powered egg. But this time of year there wasn't much in season. Persimmons maybe. She remembered back in the day when no one had any idea about seasonality. Food was always there in bounteous plenty flown from wherever it had grown. And persimmons, those were sort of a joke fruit, especially when she'd learned they were called kaki in much of the world. Who'd want to eat that? And there was always a week in the fall when someone at work would bring in bags of them and offer them around.

The kitchen smelled good this morning - someone had been baking! The plates of scramble came with a two-bite muffin. The server said it was apple quince. Hah! Another weirdo fruit for grandpas. Quince. What ever was that? A sort of Frankenapple? The scramble was its usually practical self. Inoffensive tasting fuel for the day. But the muffins were good and, as she savored her two bites, she couldn't make out anything more than apple taste. She finished and dumped her fork and emptied plate into the basket, said thanks to the cooking team, and left for work.

Mornings were often the best part of the day. She was fresh and so was the breeze that ruffled her hair and caressed her cheek. She had to hustle to get to work on time - being late was bad and she'd seen colleagues disappear after they'd missed the gate opening twice. She didn't really think about where they'd gone. Pedaling somewhere to support the needs of the state or maybe working in the regional farms. Sometimes that didn't sound too bad. Being outside in the sun, helping things grow. But she knew that was all a fantasy. Being outside, sure, but that's in all sorts of weather. It was hotter than before, but there were still vicious storms with the volatility that came from an atmosphere drenched in moisture. She walked faster, thinking how grateful she was for her office and her room, all heated to a manageable 18 degrees and cooled down to reasonable 30.

She made it with a couple minutes to spare and with a twinge of regret for not stopping a moment and watching the scudding clouds, she slipped past the gate and over to her building. The door scanned her iris and slid open. Her office was on the third floor, high enough to have a bit of a view, but not so high that she used a lot of calories climbing up. She called a cheery Good Morning to her colleagues and sat at her desk. When her computer booted up and after scanning her iris again, she read the latest broadcast.

Attention all employees. Due to budget cuts, this office must become energy self-sufficient. Below desk pedals are being installed for staff to generate the power needed to run the office. Different options include maintaining a sustainable pace throughout the day (just in time production), dedicated sessions to complete one's responsibility quickly (banking), and charging one's home battery and bringing it to work (telecharging). Staff will be notified of their kiloWatt quota and coaching will be available to help each person optimize their production, while continuing to fulfill their mandate. Staff unable to fulfill their quota must report to the Medical Service for a review of their capacity. Management will then determine whether a staff member's production is enough to compensate for their inability to contribute to the energy needs of the organization.

S**t. How was she supposed to get any work done? She barely had enough time in the day to keep up with all the obligatory chores and pedaling at home. With a grim smile, she admitted at least none of them needed to go to the gym. They lived at the gym and now it seems they worked there too.

Chapter 4:

Fine, let's get down to it. She looked at the task list and started reviewing the numbers on their last budget update. Didn't look particularly good. She'd need to coordinate with the people over in logistics to reconfirm the warehouse levels. Hmm, it was chilly today. Seemed colder than yesterday actually. She turned on her phone and checked the weather. Usually she didn't waste time on that, since she could just look out the window. But it hadn't seemed colder outside. The weather service said it was 15. Yep, that seemed right. Then she turned on the thermometer on her phone and checked the room. 17. Shiiit. The office was supposed to be kept at 18. That was the official indoor temperature. The socials said that was the best compromise between comfort and energy use, that it hit the sweet spot between the two competing goals to give the most productivity for the least energy.

She was already wearing a sweater over a turtleneck over thermal underwear. They all followed the slogan, Clothing not kiloWatts. And she agreed with that. Why waste energy heating when you can just wear more clothes and retain your body heat? But there was a trade-off there too. If your job required fine work with your hands, well, then cold hands made for problems. Things dropped, numbers were mistyped. She got up and put on her coat and hat and got back to work.

As she wrangled data, creating visualizations whose downward trends depressed her as she manipulated them, the back office of her mind started asking questions. The new announcement and the colder temperature were probably related. If it was colder in the office, then people would pedal more to stay warm. That made sense. But where was the fuel for this extra pedaling going to come from? She hadn't seen anything about an expanded lunch menu to give them more calories in exchange for the kiloWatts they were expected to generate.

Lunch was already pretty sparse here. Cold sandwiches, usually peanut butter with a bit of jam-adjacent color smeared on one side, and three glasses of water. She wasn't complaining. The water was filtered and the sandwiches fine. She smiled thinking of how sometimes they were cut in whimsical shapes, as if the hands that assembled them were connected to someone who just couldn't help themselves and had to send a message of their existence out into the world. She pictured the kitchen worker, hands moving fast, picking up two slices of bread, dipping his knife into the peanut butter, coating the bread, then taking a spoon of the colored whatever it was and doing the same. The two smeared slices slapped together and out comes the sharp knife. The assembler swiftly cuts the sandwich in two and starts over again. Mostly he turns the white squares into rectangles, but sometimes into triangles, even though that takes a little bit longer. Every once in a while, when he's running ahead of schedule, he takes his time and makes multiple cuts, creating two pieces nestling together, transforming the mundane into a little two-piece puzzle. Whenever she saw one of these designer sandwiches, she grabbed it, imagining her hand clasping the hand which had made it and she felt good for the rest of the day.

Another meeting this afternoon. She gathered her papers and went to the room. It was a luxury that they had a space to gather. At home, the only options for talking to people in person were the lines or the corridors. It made for brief conversations and usually people were edgy with the need to get what they were waiting for. The meeting room wasn't heated, although today it was less noticeable, since the whole office was colder. People piled in, like her wearing coats and scarfs and even some gloves. The screen turned on and the big boss from headquarters appeared.

Before we start the review, some housekeeping. I think you've all seen the announcement about needing to help heat the offices. We've been asked to absorb the increase in energy costs and you know we don't have anything spare in the budget to cover it. The one thing the center will give us, though, is equipment to generate electricity. The pedals will arrive next week. Until then, we've turned the heat down to the minimum. The boss smiled wryly - I see you've all figured that out already. People groaned in acknowledgement. One innovation from the center - they're not issuing batteries here, so you'll need to bring yours from home. More groans at this. She thought, what a s**t show! More calories needed to be expended carrying her battery back and forth. What if someone stole it? The boss continued, of course, you'll be liable for any loss or damage, if something happens to the battery. She nodded with a sigh. No surprise there. There's more, of course, he added, but I'll leave it to HR's briefing later this week to explain how the credit system works. Any questions? 

She looked around at the glum faces. No hands were raised. Well, fine, she'd ask. Yes, if I may. Go ahead. Hi, it's Christine from budget. I've seen the numbers and get that there's no flexibility to cover the price increase. And I get that we can help by pedaling at work. As she said that, she remembered when standing desks and treadmill desks and all that were seen as luxuries that required a doctor's note to get the office to pay for them. I assume someone's looked at the cost of the extra calories that we'll all need to generate this electricity and accounted for that in the calculations. In short, I'd like confirmation that lunch will be adjusted, so we all have enough food to meet whatever the quota will be. There were some murmurs in the room for that.

Christine, was it? asked the boss. She nodded nervously. That's a fair question. That's all being looked at now. Any adjustments in the food levels need to go through a central authorization process. I've raised it here and I can promise I'll put forward your submission. I rely on you to develop a well-reasoned, well-justified proposal, that I can support. She didn't like the sound of that. Their boss had been fair and followed through on his commitments. This, however, showed that he thought they would have trouble getting approval. At least, the door was left ajar. A bit.

Any other questions? There were a couple of sighs, but otherwise silence. OK, let's get to our regular business. And then he went through the usual blah, blah, blah. Performance reviews - yeah, she was so eager for that. Wait, what did he just say? KiloWatt production was going to be a new metric for performance. Yep, she figured that was coming. And, what? It was going to be a net figure? Calculated by the energy she used at her computer, her share of the energy needed to heat or cool the office space she was in, and the kiloWatt equivalent of what she took at lunch? Oh that was really s****y. She stuck her hand up again. He paused, yes, Christine?

Thank you for explaining the new KPI for personal energy performance. I appreciate understanding the details, given its importance to everyone here. One clarification - if the energy we produce is offset by the energy to temperature control the office we are in, will we be able to control that temperature? And if the food we get is also an offset, how can we be assured of its caloric value?

The boss looked a bit uncomfortable and deflected to the coming briefing. All this will be explained at the briefing. These are harmonized and standardized procedures that the center has developed through a consultative, data-driven process to ensure fairness and consistency across the organization, as well as maximize cost-efficiency. Even he, a master of office politics, had a bit of trouble straightfacing his way through that. Any other questions on the new KPI? No?

The meeting went back to its usual routine. The human resources person shared some recent departures, adding that they hadn't yet received permission to get replacements. The reasons for the departures weren't made clear and everyone appreciated that. No one wanted reminders of the consequences for failing to obey the rules. She wanted to ask about how the work those people had been doing would be reallocated, but she realized better not. Work always found a home and she didn't need to be implying there was room with her or worse get tasked with redistributing it to others. She glanced under lowered eyes at the others and they too knew better.

The facilities manager made his report. Total production from solar was down, as expected, for this time of year. The water catchment system was functioning well and the rainwater cisterns were close to full after the past week of storms. That was good. Then he mentioned that the building management system had recently been reset with an update from headquarters. Well, I guess that explained the colder temperature.

Chapter 5:

Everyone filtered back to their offices. She tried, but couldn't really concentrate. The changes seemed relatively straightforward. Pedal at work. Not so different from home. But she felt something was off. Having to bring her battery back and forth would be annoying and why not just connect the pedals to the building's grid and charge the battery here. The whole teleproduction thing sounded like it was supposed to be a good thing to give them flexibility and options, but it seemed kind of silly. Or maybe the idea was to have them pedal all the time here and still not be able to hit the target, so they'd need to bring in some charge from home. She already had so little free time. She wanted to keep some scraps of it. She knew a lot of people were so adapted to pedaling that they would eat, watch shows, and surf the socials from the bike. And her mind flashed to poor Sam again.

Another thing off was the calorie intake. They'd all need to eat more to keep up the quotas. Even if not much. She wondered if they'd get to run their own data. She had a pretty slow metabolism, even now with all the exercise. Back before all this, she had tended to get fat. It hadn't taken more than a mouthful or two of some decadent dessert to see the scale drift upwards. Not a problem now. She didn't have access to a scale, but she knew from how her clothes fit that she was much trimmer. Everything was flipped now. Before food was easy and everywhere, while getting exercise was a challenge. Before it was hard to find real dark and light pollution was a thing, now the dark comes and we all chase light riding bikes that don't go anywhere.

There was a light tap on the door, followed by two quick raps. That would be Raj. She used to think this cloak and dagger stuff was stupid. Not anymore. Too many people had "quit for new opportunities" after been seen discussing too long in the corridors. She quickly got up and opened the door just enough for Raj to slip in. He was carrying a stack of folders - a classic trick to justify being out and about. Oh, are these for me? He laughed. Not this time. I'm taking them on a long walk with some stops on the way. Then he was serious. What are we going to do with this? These changes are going to shift the cost-benefit ratio here big time. I like the work. I like the colleagues - and here he gave one of his charming smiles. I like being in a temperature controlled environment out of the weather with a decent lunch. They've reduced the temperature, they're adding a distraction - and here he circled his fists over each other to mime pedaling - that'll make it harder to work, and I bet this review they do on calorie intake versus productivity will end up reducing our lunch. What if they switch the peanut butter for margarine or some other smear? He looked stricken at the thought. Funny, but peanut butter reminds me of when I was a kid and we were still fat, dumb and happy burning up the millions of years of sunshine that produced all those fossil fuels. Well, she replied, we're certainly not fat now! They must think we're still dumb though.

How are you thinking to do your bit? I'm going to try to just pedal and work at the same time. Maybe I'll finally figure it out and can keep a smooth, low-key pace that lets me get stuff done. He answered, I'm going to try to do it in sprints a couple of times a day. Wear myself out a bit. It'll settle the mind. And I guess if I just do the filing while I'm recuperating, it'll work out. As he turned to go, she caught his arm, can I get a hug? Out came one of his charming smiles. Yep. I think we both need one. If it's a good enough hug, I'll pass it on. They clung together longer than they'd expected. This new change was a bad omen, turning their secure routines on their heads and threatening to overwhelm the weaker colleagues. If more people leave and they aren't replaced, the ones remaining will be squeezed dry.

Chapter 6:

She finally closed out the review of last month's figures. The regional offices weren't that far from breaking even, which was good, but since their surpluses were what funded her office, and there weren't surpluses, things weren't so good here. Maybe that's why these new measures. Well, nothing she could do about it now. She sent the report to the boss and closed everything down. As she was leaving, she saw Raj ahead of her. Hey! Wait up!

Raj turned a bit and when he saw her, he jerked his chin forward and slowed down. She sped up so they were walking side by side. They nodded and kept going, out the gate and into town. There was still some sun, so she didn't need to hurry home. An unexpected pleasure to see you! Where are you headed?, besides home I mean. Indeed, he replied, I'm heading home. You, as well? Home again, home again. He laughed and replied, jiggety jig. Wow! You remember that old movie too? It was a good one. She thought, it hasn't turned out quite like that though. No cool Japanese visuals, no flying cars, no replicants, but the poverty and despair were pretty familiar. Style is defined by its difference from everyone else; poverty and despair strike commonalities across differences.

I'm over in the Holiday Inn near the station. Great. That's not far from my place. And they walked together. After things had gotten bad, hotels and offices were repurposed for the wetfugees. As land disappeared under the water, people who'd lived on the coasts and in the low lying areas had to be moved. After death finally pried the wrinkled digits of the Baby Boomers off the world they'd burned up meant, the demographic crash meant there were surpluses of space everywhere. The people fleeing the seas could just be moved right in to the empty towers full of little boxes. Hotels worked best, since they had full kitchens on site. Office towers weren't too bad either, although the bathrooms were shared and there weren't always showers or food prep areas. The government did some minimal retrofitting and then - boom - filled the places to the brim. She had been lucky to get a room at the Holiday Inn. And, yes, she'd had her fill of jokes about "no room at the".

As she walked next to Raj, their hands nearly touched. She moved a bit closer. So you like old movies? What else besides Bladerunner? Oh, I like those space movies. The one with the monkeys in the beginning. The one with the guy trapped on Mars. I really admire his let's science the way out of trouble approach. We could use more of that these days. He dropped his voice, it does make one wonder why we don't have things more under control. The socials say the universities are still working, researching, looking for a way to pull carbon out of the air. And the fusion project in France had started to work. Solar, wind, nuclear - there were lots of carbon neutral energy sources. So why are we all forced to pedal all the time? She edged away from his words. She had asked these questions too, but never dared to say them out loud. Still, they were outside away from keystroke loggers and the security cameras in the office, so maybe no one would notice.

Well, here's my turn. It was nice talking with you. She paused a moment. Does your place allow non-resident visitors? Maybe we could get together sometime? He deployed his charming smile, that'd be nice. I have to see if I could book it and you'd need to be ready to pedal or bring a charged battery. There's also "Likes bring Light". Battery, my friend, battery! she replied. I'm still hoarding some scraps of self-respect and that crap they want rated on the socials in exchange for some lumens is abominable. They went in for a hug, but remembering they were in public, just brushed past each other. Have a good night! You too.

She walked towards the setting sun in a low key competition to get back before it went down. She had gone out of her way a little bit, enjoying the company, but now she was paying for it. She could manage the extra calories of walking, but didn't want to use the flashlight on her phone to navigate the pathways in the dark. She liked Raj, but his recklessness was worrying. Even though she agreed with him, saying those things was dangerous.

And then she was safely home, beating the dark, and slipping into the silent line of people waiting to be fed.

Chapter 7:

First Saturday of the month - time for community service. She had tried to get on the cooking crew, but that was a sought after assignment and the slots filled as soon as the sign-up calendar opened. Despite her best efforts to click on park duty, child care or even logistics at the aid warehouse, she was stuck with filter cleaning. True, it was directly contributing to keeping the community, but it was heavy, disgusting work. On the upside, the extra physical labor was compensated with a calorie dense lunch made by the lucky souls in the kitchen closest to the pumping station.

She put on the jumpsuit designed for physical labor, grabbed the breakfast bars that were always on hand for community service Saturdays, and caught the tram out to the sea wall. As she rode, she ate and watched the training video they'd sent out. There was a lot to remember and mistakes could be serious. She remembered the last time she'd been stuck with filter duty. Someone hadn't properly rigged the chain lift to one of the covers and it had slipped and crushed the girl trying to maneuver it. And then a couple of years ago, the socials had blown up about a major spillover that was the result of pumps failing because the filters hadn't been reinstalled properly after sloppy maintenance. The person leading that Saturday crew had been cast out to sea and the rest sent to the lithium mines. Even though it drained her phone, she watched the video several times. The other people on the tram seemed to be doing the same.

There were a lot of people huddled together near the entrance. Looked like they would be doing some major maintenance. As they filed in, they were issued wireless noise cancelling headphones for ear protection and comms and herded into the pumping area. She saw Reggie from her building helping get people organized. She gave a wave, hoping to get one of the lighter jobs, like greasing bolts and seals or maybe picking plastics out of the traps. Scraping barnacles off the filter and anodes was hard, but delicate work. If you damaged anything, there would be penalties, but you couldn't go too slowly or the others would have to wait for you to finish and then you were kicked to the back of the lunch line.

Listen up, everyone! If you can hear me, raise your hand. She shot her hand up with everyone else. Okay, if you've done this before, go over to the right. If you've never had the pleasure, go to the left. I hope everyone has watched - and rewatched - the training video. They're have been some changes recently, so even if you're a veteran, you need to pay attention.

This place is what keeps our city dry and supplied with clean water. If this equipment doesn't work, you will find yourself swimming in the salt. If the desalination side of the equation goes down, you will not have water to drink. Clear? He looked expectantly at the group. He shouted, I said, Clear? Yes, sir, they all shouted back.

We will be taking half the pumps off-line today. One quarter in the morning, then lunch for you, while the technicians test your work before turning the pumps back on. Then you'll get back to it and do the second part. No one leaves until the pumps they worked on have been cleared.

This place is dangerous. People have died here working on this equipment, so do not do anything without having your lead OK your set-up before you start something. If you have a question, ask your lead. If you have a problem, tell your lead. If you have an accident, no matter how small, tell your lead. If you need to take a leak (was that a pun? she wasn't sure with Mr. No Nonesense, but there was tiny flash of amusement there and she smiled at the image), tell your lead. No one steps away from their team and no one roams around alone. First infraction, no matter how small, you don't get lunch. Second infraction, you get sent home and we file a report. Is that clear? And they all shouted Yes, sir! again. He barked, Any questions? As usual, eyes were on the floor, and even she didn't have anything to ask. Reggie, Conseulo, Ed, you take the veterans. Sandra and I will take the newbies.

She hurried to stand near Reggie. He spotted her then and gave her a tight nod. He and the other leads were all tense. There was potential for a real disaster here and they didn't want anyone to screw things up. You two come with me, he said, pointing at her and a big guy with a spectacular Afro. He stuck out his hand, I'm Reggie, and you're? Christine, she volunteered. David, rumbled the other guy. Great. How many times have you both done this before? Three, she said. Five, he said. Reggie smiled at that and relaxed a little bit. Good, so you know the drill. It's pretty much the same, except we're dealing with the bolts the old-fashioned way with hand wrenches. She and David exchanged appalled glances. Reggie continued, we've got special tools that fit the bolts exactly and it goes pretty fast. When we're done, the techs do their review and tighten the bolts again with the power tools before turning on the pump. We have six pumps to do. If we pace ourselves to do one per hour, we'll be fine. She stuck her hand up and then felt silly, since it was just the three of them. Um, have you thought about doing them in parallel and not in series? Would that be more efficient? Interesting idea, I'll run it by the boss for testing, but right now all the protocols say to do one at a time. They said it's safer, in case there's a problem the other pumps will still be operational. Anything else? Nope? Let's go.

Chapter 8:

They went to one of the ten bays, each with six mammoth pumps. The equipment had traps and filters as part of the intake to protect the pumps from whatever crap floated into water. And there was a lot of crap. Ancient plastic bottles, dead sea birds, broken beach shoes, candy wrappers, whatever stayed on the surface got sucked in along with the water.

Do either of you remember the order from video? David recited, turn off the pump, drain, attach the chain lift to the cover, unbolt the cover, lift the cover, move to the side, attach another chain lift to the filter, lift the filter, clean the filter, reinstall the filter, clean the anodes in the cover, reinstall the cover, bolt the cover down. Reggie smiled, yep, you've done this before. Christine, was that right? She nodded, yes, that's what I remember. And we need to inspect everything before reinstalling and grease the bolts and where the cover settles. Good. Before you start each step, tell me what you're doing. Then do it. Then show me what you did. OK? Yes, sir, they replied.

The work went pretty smoothly, except for the damn bolts. Of course, they had to be very tight to seal the filter chamber under all that water pressure. But unscrewing them with what looked to be tire wrenches was a b***h. It took two people to loosen them and she made a note to make sure and generously grease them when putting them back. It would make the lives of those doing the next maintenance cycle much easier.

She ended up doing the finer scale work, since she was the smallest. She scrubbed the barnacles and mineral deposits off the anodes that kept the metal from corroding in the salt water. While the others slowly lowered the filter and then the cover, she maneuvered them into their places so they found the notches that kept them in place. This was tricky, fiddly work and she had to get things just right without getting her fingers caught.

They all scraped the filters, working from different sides, inside and out. It was satisfying to go from the murk and filth when the filter first pulled out to a clean stainless steel mesh, shining with the promise of technology to save the world.

After they finished the first pump, Reggie called for the tech to inspect everything. They got a thumbs up and started on the next. They got through the next two pumps smoothly, their pace picking up as they learned how to do the job and developed a rhythm working together. While she'd rather not be up to her armpits in stinking marine garbage, she did enjoy the easy camaraderie they built.

Meeting new people was hard these days. No one had time or kiloWatts to spare in just hanging out. After the sea came in earnest, when people finally stopped talking about hundred-year floods and thousand-year storms, everyone had focused on adapting. All resources were directed to protecting what was in place, whether infrastructure or underground aquifers. And hard decisions had to be taken, something the government was ill-equipped to handle. She remembered the riots when people were relocated from the flood plains and houses bulldozed, so people didn't come back. She remembered when most of Arizona had been condemned, because they'd sucked up all the ground water. She remembered when Miami became the new Atlantis and New Orleans turned into an island. The socials didn't take this seriously at first and the term wetfugee had been someone's clever gif of Porky Pig stuttering through the word refugee, but it had stuck.

They went for lunch, heading outside the station to food tents. Sandwiches, some hot water that had been introduced to at least two or three tea leaves, and, oh wow! carrots, and what was that? humuus? Jackpot!!! OK, when she dipped the carrots into the beige paste it wasn't really humuus, but still. It felt positively decadent. She picked up a carrot, stuck her pinkie out, and gestured with it at her teammates. Oooh la la! Crudites! Reggie just lost it. He laughed so much he doubled over. David snorted and shook his head. Damn, girl, I haven't heard that word in years. Carrots, fresh carrots! A miracle right here. And this dip just reminds me there is a God.

It was bad form to ask people where they came from or what they did before. It reminded people of what they lost. But nonetheless she ventured a comment, David, do you ever go to the services out in the park downtown? He looked serious, yes, yes, I do. It's easy to see the glories of God's creation when you are standing out in it. They all nodded at that, taking in the banks of clouds and swirling flocks of seagulls looking for scraps.

And then they went back inside.

Chapter 9:

Back in the bay, they start on the next pump. They've built a rhythm, a trust between them, and it goes smoothly. There's always a little frisson of excitement when the chain lifts the filter out of the chamber. What's going to be in there? Generally, it's indistinguishable trash - degraded plastic bags, dead fish, scraps of fishing equipment. Sometimes things were more interesting.

This morning, she'd scooped out a candy wrapper with what looked like writing on it with cross-crossed lines and brush strokes, some sort of Asian thing. She'd imagined it floating all the way across the ocean, days in the water the picture fading in the relentless sun. There'd been a rumour from her last time cleaning pumps that someone had found a brick of drugs all wrapped up in blue plastic, unspoiled by its journey, but she figured that was unlikely. Just some holdover assumptions from the old days when politicians agitated about poison coming over the border before The Wall had sealed things off. There wasn't much call for that sort of thing anymore, once Freedom Through Work came in. Everyone had a job and everyone had what they needed to Live Free and Be Independent. She smiled at herself reciting the slogan. Although she'd heard some people managed to make alcohol from food scraps and exchange it for kiloWatts, but drugs? Too much work to make and too easy to miss your quota. No need for a War on Drugs when two days missed quota sorted things right out.

And up went the filter, Reggie and David carefully raising it, so it didn't get dented on its journey into the light. She got in there. Nope. Nothing interesting. She grabbed the trash, put it in the bucket, and started scraping off the barnacles, while David inspected the bolts. Ten minutes of that and then Reggie sprayed it down. She shoveled the accumulated gunk into the bucket and they checked the filter. A bit more scraping and hosing and it was clean. Reggie called the inspector, while she and David did the anodes of the cover. Thumbs up, then they hoisted the filter back into the chamber and got it settled in place. Then onto greasing bolts and installing the cover. Reggie and David did the heavy work tightening it down. Done and again, the inspector checked everything, then used the power wrench for a final tightening. Four down, two to go.

The fifth one was just the same. Hard work, no surprises - fun or otherwise, and checked off as okay to return to service.

They were running a bit ahead of schedule. That was nice. Would they get to leave early? Or would they get sent to help out the slower teams? Probably the latter. She didn't mind helping newbies. She was one once too.

The guys started on the cover, handing her the bolts to set safely aside. The last thing they needed was for one to fall in. God, then she'd probably be the one stuck jumping into the tank to fish them out. Yuck. All out. They put the chain on the cover, lifted it and moved it aside. Next the filter. And it was out. She stuck her head in and gasped. A bottle! A tiny sealed bottle! She grabbed it and saw a small paper curled up inside it. Like in a fairy tale! Just as she was backing out to show it to the others, she heard a loud klaxon, so loud she heard it through the headphones.

Reggie yelled at David, Come on! You, Christine, stay here! Get the filter clean, and do what you can, but stay safe until we're back. She put the bottle to the side and started scraping the filter. As she scraped, she kept thinking about the bottle. Better that than than the alarm. She hosed down the filter. Looks pretty good. A few more scrapes, another wash and it was clean. She scraped the anodes. She inspected the bolts. And then she looked at the bottle again. The training hadn't explicitly said one couldn't take souvenirs. But it hadn't said one could either. And then the klaxon stopped. She grabbed the bottle and stuffed it into her shirt.

Reggie and David returned. Reggie had blood on his coveralls. There was an accident. We'll need to finish here and then do the last one of that team. Did she want to know? David looked gray. No, she did not. She did not want to know at all. See, I finished the filter and the cover and inspected the bolts. Great job, Reggie said listlessly. Reggie called the tech, who okayed it, and they reassembled everything. Again the tech, who gave them the thumbs up and tightened the bolts. Good work here. Too bad you've gotten stuck with the clean-up next door.

They went to the next bay and clean-up was the right word. There was a lot of blood. There was a body to the side with a rag over its face. She started to tremble as they worked on the filter. Reggie put his hand on her shoulder. Don't worry. We're a good team and we know how to do this. Let's get it done and I'll walk with you back home. And they did and he did.

Chapter 10:

On the tram home, they didn't say much. She wanted to ask how often they had accidents like today and was it only with the Saturday crews? But Reggie looked tired and sad with a pinch of angry thrown in, so she just sat with her thoughts. She kept flashing to the still form and how the blood swirled red-ly down the drain when Reggie had hosed the floor. She gathered herself and proffered We made a good team in there. Reggie perked up a bit. Yeah, it helps that you guys had done it before. It also helps that you two are serious people who understand that there are rules for a reason. You'd be surprised what some of the Saturday people think is a good idea. Well, to be fair, it's more that they don't think. Once somebody figured the grease must be lard and took a taste. Boy, was he surprised! And sometimes people try to take stuff they find in the traps. I've been working there long enough that I've seen all sorts of stuff. That wrapper you found is pretty typical. Who knows how long it had been out there? We don't waste resources like now. Can you imagine that they used to make things to eat out of weird enough stuff that it could sit for months in packaging? Gross. Disgusting and wasteful. And they both recited Fresh food is freedom; free from pesticides, free from preservatives, free from pollutants. And they shook their heads laughing. I haven't said that in awhile. Not since school.

She was glad she hadn't mentioned the bottle. She could feel its small hardness nestled against her chest. She'd look later, tonight after dinner.

They entered their building together, just in time for dinner. Hey, Karl, what's on offer tonight? We got a load of fresh vegetables, so we made pasta primavera and threw in some protein balls. She went back to the second part of Fresh food is freedom. Meat is murder, killing you and killing the planet. She couldn't imagine eating dead flesh. Not just the death part it - ick, another flash to the dead body - but the harm it did, degrading the land, and wasn't there something about animals farts? Or burps? The whole thing seemed ridiculous and wasteful in a way typical of back then.

Aaand, there's sweet potato pie for dessert! Whoa, my friend, that must have been some load of vegetables! They each grabbed plates. Reggie, no need to stand here and wolf everything down. How about we eat in my room up on fourth? I'm still a little wobbly. He sighed. Yeah, it was a hard day. Let me change out of my work clothes and I'll come join you. They went upstairs, food in hand.

He stopped at three and she went on. She slipped into her room, put the food down, and pulled out the bottle. It was clear glass, sealed with red plastic. There was no label, just that mysterious curl of paper. She couldn't see anything on it from the outside. She quickly tucked it into the bottom drawer in the closet and then changed into her house clothes. She jumped on the bike to get started on charging her battery. A few minutes later, she heard a knock. She stopped and let Reggie in.

They sat on her bed, cross legged, and ate. The pasta was good. Nice creamy sauce, plenty of vegetables this time, and the pasta itself nicely cooked. So what do you do with yourself when you have some time? She thought about it. I like to go walking into the old part of town, you know, where they still have individual houses. I imagine what it must have been like, living in a place like that without anyone else, lights burning all the time, so hot inside in the winter that you can walk around half naked and so cool in the summer that you need a sweater. I think about whether I'd have a pet, waiting just for me to come home from work, maybe a dog, and then we'd go out for a walk and look in the windows of all the shops. All that abundance just for me to have and not even realize it. Reggie shook his head. I remember the videos from school. So much. They had so much and it wasn't enough.

And how about you, Reggie? When you're not shepherding Saturday crews? He smiled. I like to track down Annie May spots. There are a couple close by. She remembered learning about the battles fought over Annie May. Back around when she was born, Annie May became a big deal. People posted places where they felt the earth communed with them and tried to connect them into a network. And other people objected to the Godless earth worshiping idolators and started destroying the sites. So, of course, the pagans fought back. It had escalated pretty quickly and then just as quickly people moved on, although a fair number of people on both sides had died. The Annie May diehards said the bloodshed made the network stronger. So, when you visit the sites, do you feel anything? Like the Earth is talking to you? Yeah, a little bit. But I'm not sure how much of that is just me being really quiet and paying attention to what's around me and how much of it is something different. Still, it's interesting to see. People leave things at the sites. Weird-shaped rocks, flowers, sticks. If you want, we could go together sometime. Yeah, I would like that.

Reggie got up to go, Are you OK? I know it's a shock when there's a bad accident. My first time was hard. If you want to talk about it, I'm here for you. She looked up at him. Right now all I need is a hug. Then I have to finish my quota and go to sleep. He opened his arms and wrapped her in a solid hug. They stayed a while. She felt he needed it as much as she did. Thanks. Have a good night. Yeah, you too. And he left.

The bottle called to her, but she wasn't ready yet to break that seal. She pedaled, she brushed her teeth, and she lay down, hoping for a peaceful night and not the nightmares that she felt baying in the back of her mind.

Chapter 11:

She woke up surprisingly refreshed. The feared nightmares didn't come. Rather they'd been crowded out by thoughts of the bottle. Should she open it now? Here? Take it outside away from prying eyes? As if that were possible.

Sunday morning! A time full of possibilities. She had planned to go to the library. She enjoyed reading books. The paper between her hands, turning the pages, but knowing the words hadn't disappeared and were just waiting for the next person. Paper was a great technology. Renewable and once printed or written on, always there, accessible to anyone with a light source.

The Library had cushy chairs - a bit battered, but that's to be expected from all the use - nestled next to the windows to take advantage of the daylight. You could read and you could watch what was happening outside. You had to book a chair in advance, same with whatever you wanted to read. You could even have your meal credit moved to the Library and eat there. Of course, you had to bring over a full battery to help run the facility or pedal there to cover your responsibility. Some people didn't use the chairs, but instead read while pedaling. She had booked the full high-end experience: an armchair, lunch, and a mystery novel. She usually planned something nice for Sundays after a community service Saturday.

She stood at the closet. Should she take it? There was a park on the way to the Library. That could be the right place. She could always throw it out there if she had to, but she knew inside she wanted to keep it. OK, let's do this. She leaned over the drawer, blocking the contents with her body and she grabbed it along with a sweater she had. As she pulled the sweater on, she slid the bottle into her pants pocket. There.

She stopped at the kitchen and grabbed her breakfast - great! an egg and bean burrito! Hey, just reminding that I'm eating lunch at the Library. You should see that in the system. Yeah, thanks, Christine, got it. How'd the week's cooking go? Pretty well. They sent us enough supplies, so we didn't have to get too creative. She nodded, That always helps. You guys did a good job. Yesterday's pasta was nice and the pie was a real treat. I'm in next week's crew and you all set a high standard. He smiled. Nice of you to take the time to say something. And good luck on Monday morning! She nodded again. See ya.

The day was nice. Not too cold even though it was winter. Funny to think that this time of year had snow way back in the day. She was glad for her sweater though. Her long strides ate up the blocks to the park. Not too many people out today, but then it was on the early side.

She entered the park, going through the huge gates. She cut across the lawns, heading towards the trees near the lake. The lake glistened in the sun, reflecting the blue sky and the archtypally fluffy white clouds. She paused for a moment, scanning to see who was there. Looks all clear. She went and leaned against a tree. She got her phone and held it, conveying the vibe of someone looking for directions or trying to get in touch with whoever had stood her up. With her other hand in her pocket, she worked open the seal of the bottle She started a bit as she felt it open. She turned it upside down, hoping to shake out the message. She was patient and kept at it. And then it slipped out.

She took a deep breath and told herself that it was probably just a kid's prank. Someone far away across the ocean had thought it'd be fun to say Hello or whatever it in their language. OK, let's do it. She brought the roll out of her pocket, rested it on her phone screen and unrolled it. Funny, there was what looked like a phone number, 011-235-813-2134, and a drawing of what looked like a shell. Asymmetric, starting small, circling around and then a swoop. Well, that was both intriguing and weirdly anticlimactic. She wondered what she'd been expecting really. It almost seemed like it would have been better to have kept up the anticipation.

She took a couple of pictures of the paper. First the whole thing and then focused in tight on the intricate drawing. Then she rolled it back up tightly and stuck it in her pocket, right back in the bottle. She looked again at her phone, miming the frustration of someone who's had enough of waiting.

And then she threw all caution to the winds. What the hell, it's just a number. She dialed. There were a series of clicks, a pause and then a mechanical voice answered, The number you have dialed is not in service, please check your number and dial again. It was an old-style automatic voice response like the number had tapped into the ancient phone networks and not the usual smooth chiming of a misdial. And she checked the photo she'd taken to make sure of the number, and dialed it again. Again, a series of clicks, a pause, and the mechanical voice. Thank you for calling. Your message has been forwarded. You will receive a response shortly. She nearly dropped the phone. What had she done?

She slipped the phone back in her pocket and finished her walk to the Library. She checked in, got her book and sat back in the chair. The sun was streaming in the windows, warming the room. Ah, this was great. Just what she needed. Time for a little pause for herself. Next week would be rough, since she was doing breakfast and dinner for the week, so had to get up early, would get to work late, and then would have to cram everything in, to get back in time to do dinner. She set an alarm on her phone, so she would stop in time for lunch. Then she dove into her book, letting the other world take her away from her worries.

Pulse, pulse. Pulse, pulse. What? Lunch already? She pulled out her phone to stop it. Hey! What's that there? When had she downloaded that app? Oh, it's Annie May. Reggie must have sent it. She decided to open it on the way home and see if anything turned up.

After eating her lunch, she went back to reading. She tried to time it, so she would finish her book before she had to leave. She never liked suspense and she didn't have another Sunday booked until next month. The sun had moved on and it got colder and darker. Pages turned, pages turned, and she slowed right at the end. Wouldn't do to gobble the whole thing down. And, she finished. She sighed with pleasure. All the plot threads tied down, the bad punished, the good rewarded. All in all, very satisfactory. Exactly what one wanted. Too bad real life wasn't the same.

She stood, stretched, and took the book back to the desk. As she went out the front door, she thumbed open Annie May. Let’s see what you are then.

 

Chapter 12:

The app opened her phone with a video of a rose opening from a tight bud to huge glorious bloom. When the last petal had unfolded, the image faded away, leaving a standard looking Welcome/log-in/continue as guest page. Interesting that the app didn't require a log-in. She was not ready, if she ever would be, to create an account on this ancient app. She clicked Continue as Guest. The next page was simple. Find Annie May near me. She clicked yes. The app pulled up a picture of a large rock. Didn't seem to be anything special really. She clicked on Go Now and the app displayed a map and the route. It didn't look too far away and wasn't too far out of her way home.

She followed the directions, watching the app. No ads, no social feeds, just old-style single-mindedness. The app led her back behind the station to a scrubby field area off the tracks. A bit further and she saw the rock. She didn't see anyone there. But just like Reggie said there was a collection of items around it. A small cairn of black stones. A lichen covered twig. And, oh look! That spiral shape that was on the paper! Someone had made the same shape using small white pebbles. Intriguing.

She looked around again quickly, but she was still alone. She put her hand on the rock, closing her eyes and taking slow, deep breaths. She stopped and felt her heart beat, slow and steady, as she concentrated on the feel of the rough stone under her hand. Did she feel anything? Or was it like Reggie had said, it felt special, because she was taking the time to be still? She heard a crow overhead. Its raspy caw broke the spell and pulled her hand back. As she turned to go, she had the urge to leave something herself. But what? The bottle? No, not that. She looked around and saw some gravel under the tracks. She took a handful and used the gray bits to follow the white spiral, giving it depth. When she was done, she sighed in satisfaction.

Her phone pulsed in her hand. The screen flashed Connection to Annie May not authorized for guest users. Photo upload permitted. Ooookkkaaay. What was this? Seemed like the app wanted a picture. Why not? With all the surveillance around, especially here, anyone who cared to know who had been here could easily find out. She focused the phone on the rock and the left objects and clicked the camera icon, taking the shot. The app responded Your Contribution Has Been Accepted. Nice that they confirmed that, although what they did with the photos, who knew. Talking a picture of a rock shouldn't be a problem. She checked that the photo was in her phone's storage, closed the app, and then turned for home.

That had been a micro-adventure, kind of cool in an odd, quiet way. She'd never have gone to that little bit of nature off the station otherwise. And like Reggie said, it really was nice to pause. She wanted to show Reggie that she'd found an Annie May. She would be doing kitchen crew all week, so probably would run into him.

She walked back, feeling like she'd peeked into something secret, but not hidden. The rock was just waiting there. Not behind trees or under a cover or locked away. It was nice enough as rocks went, but nothing unusual. The gifts helped make it feel special. Who had left them? What inspired them? She'd just tagged along after someone else. Next time, she'd be more creative. Hah! She was already feeling the tug of the app.

She got home, grabbed dinner and went to her room. She wanted to get her battery fully charged. so she wouldn't have to pedal and work at the same time tomorrow. She had to finish that proposal on the calories needed for staff to produce the requested energy. And it needed to be good, well-reasoned and convincing, so the company would understand it was in its own interest to provide an adequate lunch to its workers. As she pedaled, she thought back to the deserted train yard and the rock. She liked places like that. No one there, but the work of human hands there to see, if you looked. And had she felt some special connection there? Yes, she thought she had. But to what? The cosmos? The universe? Nature? No, it was more looking at something she knew others had looked at before, standing where she'd stood, leaving something to mark the occasion. A sort of invisible fraternity of people.

When the battery was full, she set her alarm and went to bed. Tomorrow was breakfast duty, so she needed her rest.

 

Chapter 13:

She got up with the alarm, put on her uniform for doing manual labor and went down to the kitchen. Their building had been a Holiday Inn before it had been turned into a worker's hostel. It had seven floors, each with 12 rooms. There was a lobby area that had been designed to be spacious and welcoming, but had been adapted to add additional rooms, leaving just a small entrance and a long corridor to the stairs. Of course, there were elevators, but those were turned off. In the basement, there were workshops, a laundry, and storage. The former fitness center had been converted to people-powered energy generation. Little hints of hospitality could still be found. The corridors had generically pleasant wallpaper and large mirrors placed strategically to make the spaces look larger, but the days of little individually wrapped soaps and tiny bottles of colored liquids and soothing lotions were long gone.

Each floor had a maid's area, where cleaning products and tools were kept. Residents were assigned to clean the common areas of their floor on a rotating basis. Cleaning duty wasn't too bad. Usually it was just sweeping and mopping plus some wiping down of switches and door handles. Sometimes, though, you had to charge the batteries of the vacuum and then carpet cleaner for a deeper cleaning.

But today was the start of a week in the kitchen, morning and evening. When she walked in, a couple of others were already there. There were always around 90 residents, but somehow they never managed to have the same people on the crew. She'd never figured out the algorithm for staffing the kitchen. She'd thought it would be simpler to just establish a rota and leave it. But no.

When she had first started in the kitchen, she had been surprised that it was so unstructured. The crews received recipes and instructions along with the food deliveries, but no one was formally designated as the leader. Instead, because the work was considered unskilled and thus everyone equally capable, the crews had to organize themselves. Of course, some people were better than others at certain things and then people had preferences, but in the end, someone had to take on the leadership role. Often one of the older people would get the ball rolling and from the looks of people this morning, she was the oldest. Usually people were happy to have someone step up.

Good morning! I'm Christine. I live on the fourth floor. I've been on kitchen crew many times. Shall we introduce ourselves, say what we prefer, and get started sorting out who will do what? I like to cook and am also happy to plate and serve. The others joined her, forming a ragged circle. Hi, I'm Regina, sixth floor, ingredient prep and cleaning. Morning. I'm Jaime, second, I bake. A murmur of approval rose in response. He continued, if there's nothing to bake, then I'm fine with whatever needs doing. Greetings, fellow kitchen denizens! I'm Eric, third, and I don't like serving or cooking, but am fine with cleaning at all stages. Ivanka, here, fifth, cooking, especially sauces and condiments. The last person spoke. I'm Don from seven, and I love serving.

She smiled at seeing they had a full Troika. It was almost guaranteed that any group of more than three people would have at least one Donald, Eric or Ivanka. Some of the people whose parents foisted these names on them did their best to make them their own. But whether they went by Donnie, Naldo, Rickie, Iv, Vannie, or whatever, they were stamped with their parents hope to emulate the family that had Made America Great Again.

So it sounds like everyone's cooked before. Is that right? Hands went up. Does anyone want to volunteer to be lead? Hands went down. Co-lead? One hand went up along with her own. Are you all okay with me and Ivanka being co-leads? Hands back up. Great. Okay, Eric and Don, could you check that everything's clean? I know it should all be good and last week's crew did a fine job with the cooking, but we don't want any surprises. Ivanka, Jaime, and Regina, let's open up the food delivery and get started.

The Monday morning allocation had eggs, flour, butter or something that looked like it, honey, apples, mushrooms, and cheese. The enclosed recipes offered mushroom and cheese omelets and apple crepes. Well, that looked straightforward. Ivanka suggested Let's do this quickly and then take a look at what they've sent for the rest of the week. Maybe we can rearrange things a bit. Jaime nodded, If there's yeast, then I'm all set.

I would love to make pickles, she offered. That got eyebrows climbing. Yes, pickles. Hear me out. If we can find some vinegar - and I've seen some in the cleaning closets - and add salt, we could make something that would add some crunch and flavor to things. Ivanka frowned, Two problems - first, if we are pickling something, then we won't be serving it right away and that'll short people's calories, and second, aren't pickles preserved and not fresh food? And they all recited Fresh Food is Freedom.

Good points. Vegetables suitable for pickling, like mushrooms, don't have a lot of calories, so it shouldn't make too big a difference. And, yes, pickles are preserves, but we would be making them fresh. I'm not thinking of canning them and putting them up for months, just to start now and then have them at the end of the week. That's still fresh. Well, let's see what ingredients we have and then maybe revisit.

The first plates had to be out by 0715 and breakfast would be finished at 0800. Then they'd have to clean up before leaving for their real jobs. Then back to do dinner, which had to start at 1845 and finished at 1930. At least this crew seemed nice enough. Whether they'd work well together was another thing. The proof of the pudding would, of course, be in the eating.

 

Chapter 14:

Breakfast went smoothly. The storage had enough oil, salt, pepper and leavening that they could prep the recipes as written. As Eric, Regina and Don did the cleaning up and put things away, she, Ivanka and Jaime took stock of what was on hand. A few dried spices sat in a cupboard. Cumin, curry powder, cinnamon, cloves, celery seed, coriander, and caraway seed. She wondered whether someone at the warehouse had just dumped the whole row of C jars in the monthly box of seasonings and other items, like corn starch, that weren't worth packaging in recipe size batches. But they agreed there were a lot of possibilities there.

She was glad there were so many options. Some of the hard-core crews didn't consider dried spices to be fresh. One time, she watched the self-designated crew lead open a new box, take everything out, and dump it down the drain. That week they'd had bland, boring, beige food. Everyone ate everything, after all Waste is Wicked, and people needed the calories, but there were no smiles. She'd not seen that person again though. He'd been pretty old, so maybe he'd aged out of the building. She had a while before that happened, but time was creeping up.

Jaime dug around in the refrigerator and pulled out a jar with white gooey paste - Oh, baby! Here it is! The Holiday Inn starter! I was hoping it was still here. At their puzzled looks, he explained, The first time I was on K crew, I got everyone to agree to let me try to make one. We all wanted real bread and we weren't sure if we'd get any yeast. So I set out a mix of flour and water in a jar, left it for a day, added more flour and water the next day, left it again, did that twice more, and there it was! Bubbling and ready to go! So day six and seven we made sourdough bread. Oh, was it good! This stuff will keep for a long time, as long as it's in the fridge. I passed on the word to the next crew. They didn't have any bakers, but agreed to leave it alone in the cold. And since then bakers in the building have been feeding it. He smiled, I'm just so glad to see it. It's like meeting up with a friend after a long journey. She was surprised to see him tear up a little. I mean, I started it, the universal donated the yeast to bring us the joy of fresh bread, and many hands have kept it safe and now we're back together. I'm going to whip up a dough to rise before I go to work and we can bake bread for tonight. Thanks, Jaime! That's just excellent. Really excellent. Having something to look forward to will make my day go quickly. She hung up her apron, waved goodbye, and dashed out.

She hustled to work with that quick stride that said coming through, I've got places to be. Just before she rounded the corner to her building, her phone pulsed. What the? She started to reach for it, but, no, no, no. She had to get that proposal finalized. The boss had given her an opening to get more calories allocated for lunch to compensate for the extra energy they all had to give. Food quotas at residences weren't going to go up, so there had to be an adjustment somewhere, unless they wanted to work us all to death. She grimaced at that. She was joking. But it felt truer than it should have.

OK, just a peek! She opened her phone to see the Annie May screen open. Annie May nearby. Click to view. Fine, fine, fine. She clicked. A perfectly standard pine tree. Green needles. Nice looking trunk. Surrounded by grass. And in the small garden-esque landscaped area across the street to the side of a bland building. So bland, she'd never really noticed it before. Just one more box made of brick. A huge sigh. She knew it would nag at her all day, if she didn't check it out now. She crossed the street.

She put her hand on the trunk and stopped. Just stopped. No moving. No whirling thoughts. No darting glances. Just staring at the pattern of the bark and feeling the roughness under her palm. Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath - oh! A tiny trace of a tickle of something. And she knew that was that. She looked around and saw pinecones spiraling around the trunk. Ah, there's one out of the pattern. She moved it into place at the tail, opened her phone, and took a picture. Your Contribution Has Been Accepted.

She practically flew into the building, taking stairs two at a time. She opened her draft and started working. Standard energy/calorie production charts. The staffing at the office. Numbers from the facilities manager on energy requirements from the grid to run the building cross-referenced to the seasons. She checked the projected temperatures and daylight hours for the next quarter. There'd be less light, so reduced solar production and more need for illumination, and it would be colder, so more demand for heating. Then data on the generating power from the desk pedals. Hmm, these were at least next gen, so more efficient than the ones at home. That's a nice surprise. She projected the distribution of different pedaling modes - some would go fast and furious, some would be slow and steady and some would bring in energy from home. The last would be dumb, though, since the equipment here is more effective. She made herself a note to tell the others.

A tap on the door. Raj. Hey, girl! You going down to get lunch? Yeah, thanks. Can I talk over my analysis with you? They dissected her approach as they walked downstairs. They grabbed their sandwiches and water and turned back upstairs. Hey! It's egg salad today! Nice! Someone must be in a good mood. Raj grumbled a bit, I'd rather have peanut butter. Well, I get that, but this egg salad is still pretty good. There's something in here. She closed her eyes and tasted. Oh, right, celery seed, and a bit more lemon than usual in the mayonnaise. And, and, uh, pine? Anyway I got nice triangles instead of just rectangles, so my day is looking up! Raj shook his head at her enthusiasm. Back to being serious, though, I think you've covered everything and you've made your assumptions explicit. So what's the final outcome? Does it make sense? She frowned down at the table. I need you to check my numbers. There's something, well, it just doesn't seem right. Sort of off. I'd really appreciate it. Sure, he nodded. I'll send you the file. If you can fit it in this afternoon, I'd be grateful. He nodded again and went back to his cubicle.

She sent him the file and went back to clearing unliquidated obligations. She realized her hand still had some bits of sticky sap. Ah, that was the pine!. She started to wipe it off, but stopped, and holding her hand to her nose, breathed deeply. As she exhaled, she felt the fear of her discovery lifting. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe Raj would see where she'd divided instead of multiplied. Or maybe not. Either way, she wouldn't worry about it now.

 

Chapter 15:

Raj slunk into her office, white-faced and slump shouldered. You're right. There's definitely something off. The analysis says we need fewer calories, not more. I've been through it again and again. How can that be? You're not going to submit it, are you?

She shook her head. Nope, I can't do that to us. We send this in and they'll cut something. The food, the staff, the temperature. I don't know, but it'll justify further reductions. I'll ask people to resubmit the base numbers just to be sure. Maybe the solar was overstated? Or the estimated calories needed per person to generate 1 kiloWatt is off? God, it makes me wonder about all the other information that we've been given. She shut up immediately, raising her eyes up to the ceiling. She continued, in a more measured voice, Well, let me go over it all once more after I get the basics double-checked. I'm sure I'll figure out what I'm doing wrong. I'm confident there's a simple explanation. I'm sorry I troubled you Raj for what must be my mistake.

She and Raj made eye contact. No problem, Christine. I know you've got a lot going on with closing the third quarter. I'm sure you'll figure it out. She grimaced. Thanks, Raj. I better get back to it. Those obligations aren't going to liquidate themselves.

After the door whispered shut, she leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling at what they'd all decided was the most likely observation point. She sighed. Should she call the boss? He'd offered to consider a well-reasoned, well-justified proposal. Had that been a trap to get her to send something in? If she sent in what she had now, they'd cut something. If she jiggered the numbers to justify a calorie increase, they'd find what fudging she'd put into it, cut anyway and maybe send her for early retirement.

But in her experience, the boss was a good guy. He rewarded hard work, appreciated initiative, and supported the team. She remembered when - what was that guy's name? Tony? Antoine? had proposed to switch from monthly to quarterly purchase orders to reduce admin time and the boss had gotten corporate to agree. She remembered when the boss had organized a donation drive for Ethel, who broken her leg and couldn't pedal at home. Of course, Ethel was the only person who could handle the legacy ERP system, so it was in the boss' interest to keep her on, instead of having her replaced. Maybe she should just leave it alone and accept that they wouldn't get more calories. But what was wrong? The projected solar output said one thing, but the actual input to the system seemed different. Maybe there was a metering issue? Didn't they call that a transmission loss? And maybe that meant someone was diverting energy? Stealing? Energy? Taking away the city's life blood, the power that kept them safe from the sea and created their drinking water? The very idea of it made her queasy.

Okay, okay, okay. Keep calm. This is all speculation. She banged out a couple of messages, asking for the base figures again. Let's see. Maybe she really did screw something up. It wasn't easy for someone else to review, so maybe Raj just got swept along with her logic and thus saw the same error she did. She saved the file and closed the proposal. Right. Back to those obligations.

By late afternoon, she still hadn't gotten the reviewed input. All for the best, really, she thought. She had to leave anyway to start dinner. Ah, yeah! There's going to be fresh bread! The thought of it put a bounce in her steps as she ran down the stairs. As she walked, she looked over at the Annie May pine. Wait! Someone was there! Should she go? Just for a minute? Fine.

As she approached the pine, she got a better look. The figure was a young woman with long fall of black curly hair. Hunh, unusual. She was hugging the pine, cheek resting against the bark, eyes closed. She wondered if the girl would smell like pine sap when she pulled herself away. Her phone pulsed. The Annie May app opened, the Connect to Other User button was greyed out. Oh, s**t, I'll just create a goddamn account. She quickly entered her information, swallowed down her anxiety and hit enter. The phone pulsed again. Welcome, Chris45907! As the girl on the tree opened her eyes and looked at her, her phone pulsed again. Connected to X32153.

 

Chapter 16:

 

Hello.  Come join me.  

And she did.  She went to the other side of the tree and snaked her arms around the trunk she’d met this morning, slipping in between the girl and tree.  She leaned into the trunk, feeling the girl’s arms between her body and the trunk.  The pine scent washed over her and there was a spray of needles tickling her left ear.  She closed her eyes, collected herself, and �" well �" reached out.  No tiny trickle of something. Rather more a sense of a current flowing between her, the girl, and somewhere else.  It’s one thing to be connected via an app or on the socials, but what was this?  It definitely felt nice, like being part of something much bigger.  She relaxed and enjoyed it.

 

Hey, I have to go.  The girl pulled away.  She took a handful of dried needles from the ground and her hands flew as she braided them into a circle.  She looked expectantly with one eyebrow cocked.  Ah, um, sorry!  I don’t know how to do that.  The girl laughed, Not yet, you don’t!  Here, hold this, and she handled over the circle.  She bent and got another handful of needles and started another circle, which she then closed around the first, leaving each of them holding a ring.  There!  Now it’s done.  She took the little chain and put it at the foot of the tree.  If you want to make your own, there are a lot of videos.  Just search for corn dollies or weaving straw.  They pulled out their phones and took pictures of her handiwork. Nice to have met you.  And as the girl left, she tossed over her shoulder, tell him, and then she was gone.

 

Ooof.  Too much at once.  Meeting a stranger was always stressful.  You never knew who they were, where they worked, what they valued and what they objected to.  Say the wrong thing and suddenly you got summoned for an evaluation, having to explain why you were bothering someone in line with your so-called humour or endangering the team with distracting comments. She'd had a couple of run-ins when she was younger, sitting in a chair in a bleak, featureless room. No, no one in the line had asked for her opinion. No, she hadn't imagined what she said would offend anyone. Yes, she should have asked before disturbing others. No, no one on the team needed her input to do their job. Yes, she'd had her own job to do. She'd learned pretty quickly that freedom from speech trumped freedom to speak. But, but, but, really she just didn't agree. Connection made everything better. Waiting in line is boring and using your phone to wade into the stream of predictable crap to entertain yourself is a demoralizing waste of energy. Teams made of quiet little robots are not teams, goddamn it! She stopped rehashing this old argument in her head. Whoever that had been, she did most of the talking.

Oh, s**t! She hadn't just talked, she told her to tell him. Like which him? Reggie? Maybe the girl knew Reggie from Annie May? But how could she know? Was this connection thing more than just feeling good together? But her gut told her the girl had meant she should tell her boss. Was the app spying on her? That wouldn't be a surprise. Apps had been spying on people for decades. Maybe Annie May had messaged the girl when she uploaded the picture? Or maybe Annie May summoned the girl to wait for her? All this speculation would drive her crazy and there was dinner to make.

She walked home, turning over the irregularities in the calorie proposal in her head. The girl was right. She had to tell her boss. People knew she'd gathered statistics and was looking into their energy situation. If she didn't submit something, then people'd assume she worked out some angle or was in on it, whatever it was. Okay, that was clear. She'd tell him. If he knew, he'd give her whatever explanation they'd planned and they'd both forget about it. If he didn't, well, then he'd have the same conversation with himself that she'd struggled with.

She needed to talk to Reggie about Annie May. What else could it do? What did it do with the pictures? Did he know the girl? She'd need to do serving tonight, if she wanted to see him. She went straight to the kitchen, put on an apron, and got to work.

 

Chapter 17:

You're late! It's a zoo in here and you weren't anywhere to be found! You seemed reliable and now I don't think we can count on you! Hah! Pickles! How can you make pickles, if you can't even show up for dinner? Shame, shame, shame! The kitchen crew was all shouting at her at once. She bowed her head, acknowledging their anger. I'm sorry. I let myself get distracted. I know I was wrong and I know it's made it harder for all of you. Ivanka threw up her hand. Stop. Shut up about it already and get busy. I've already started the main and Regina's prepping the veggies for the side. You get those ready. She'd wanted to do serving, but this was what happened when you're late.

Sheepishly, she asked Regina for the recipe for the side. Regina handed her the instructions without a word and went back to peeling mounds of potatoes. Okay, a gratin. But, wait, that would take an hour to bake. There was no way they'd get everything peeled, sliced, assembled and cooked in time. S**t, s**t, s**t. Why'd she stop and stand there hugging that tree like a freak? The whole building would hate her, if they had to wait and she'd get blamed for the extra kiloWatts used in the kitchen, while they finished.

Um, Ivanka? What's the main dish? I'd like to propose we change the side to something that'll take less time than gratin. Do you need the oven? I'm thinking roasted potatoes. No can do. Jaime's making apple crumble. Well, then it's got to be mashed or fried. Ivanka shook her head. Just deal with it, will you? Alright. I'm doing mashed. I don't see enough oil for frying. Fine, whatever. Just do it.

She started cutting the peeled potatoes into chunks. Wait, what was it again? Always use cold water and then boil? Or boil first? She could never remember and there weren't instructions. The hell with it. She started several huge pots of water on the stove, added salt, and went back to the potatoes. As she cut, she dropped them in the pot, starting a new pot when the one was full. Eventually Regina finished peeling and helped dice. When all the potatoes were in the water, she finally could look up and see what else was going on.

Ivanka was pan searing portobello mushrooms. Jaime had put the huge trays of chopped apples topped with sugar and oats in the oven and had started helping the servers wrap utensils in napkins. Others were stacking plates, ready to be filled with food. There was tension, but that was always the case in the kitchen in the minutes before the first plates got filled and put out. The anger had faded a bit with her change to the recipe that should bring them back on schedule.

While she waited for the potatoes, she looked for butter. Nope. D****t. Oil? Yep, and, great! it's olive oil. OK, that's set. Any garlic? Yep again. Garlic powder. That'll be give a nice note to the potatoes and fit with the portobellos. In a fit of optimism, she checked the fridge for some cheese. A long shot. Denied! No cheese. But there was some milk and that would have to do.

She checked the potatoes. Done. And then it was a race to get each pot drained, the ingredients added, and everything mashed together. As soon as she finished the first, she called out done, and moved to the next one. The servers swooped in, ladling out the potatoes, making a bed for the mushrooms, and then spooning those over. A swirl of the balsamic vinegar glaze and the plate looked pretty good. Not as nice as it would have been with a golden gratin, but fine.

More mashing, more mashing, and then the last pot was done. Between the heat and the up-and-down exertion that transformed the potatoes, she was dripping. And then she realized she was starving. But the k-crew didn't eat until the line was gone. She watched the servers move back and forth, as they moved the meals out.

Hey, Christine, stop loafing! Get started washing up. She grabbed one of the bins of the used dishes people brought down and exchanged for a full plate of food. This was not pleasant work. She'd heard some previous k-crew teammates say they found washing dishes contemplative. Hah! She hated how her hands wrinkled and she worried that she'd break something and get assigned to pedal for the building. At least, no one left anything on the dishes, so there was no need to scrape the plates. Waste is Wicked after all.

More washing. Plates, utensils, glasses. And another bin of dishes. She remembered a few years ago when she'd been on k-crew and was washing glasses. She had her hand inside one, when it broke and cut her finger. She'd stared at it, watching the blood swell. Then the pain came. She'd stood there, applying pressure and rocking back and forth, sucking air in through her teeth. One of the others had run for the First Aid kit. No bandages. But there was some antibacterial cream, so they'd daubed that on and then used a towel to wrap it up and she'd gone back to work. After they'd finished the meal service, it had stopped throbbing, so she'd avoided a trip to the infirmary. People didn’t always come back from those, even with little things.  She still had the scar though.

Switch to pots and pans. More scrubbing. More sweating. Oven trays cleaned. Counters and chopping boards wiped down. It was looking pretty good now. She paused, realizing they'd made it, even with her screw-up. The others had already started eating. Ivanka called her over. Come on, eat up. She grabbed a fork and one of the last plates. Thanks, Ivanka. Nice job with the mushrooms. Good taste, texture is right at the sweet spot of tender, not chewy. She tried her potatoes. Not too bad. Probably could have benefited from more salt. She looked up. I'm really sorry, you guys. I've got a problem at work that's nagging at me and then I saw something weird on the way home. There were a couple of nods, but no one wanted anything to do with "something weird". I'll come down early tomorrow morning and get things started. Jaime nodded. I'll see you then. I saw that cinnamon and I have plans.

While she ate her portion of crumble, she and Ivanka looked at the ingredients for the next day. Breakfast was scramble with onions and bell peppers and hash browns. Oh, great. More peeling with the added pleasure of grating and oil spatter. And dinner was pasta with pesto and sauteed zucchini - good, that's easy enough. Oh, and a starter of tomato and mozzarella salad. Possibilities there. She would do a quick pickle to a few of the vegetables in the morning and see what the crew thought at dinner.

There were a couple of portions of food left as they started to close up. They were about to divide it up, when there was a tap on the door. Hello? Anyone in there? Anything left? The voice sounded familiar. Is it him? That'd be a bolt of good luck. I'll go, she told the others, and went out with a plate. It was Reggie.

Hey! Great to see you! Yeah, indeed. You had to work late? Yeah. There was an upgrade on the system and we had to check that everything still worked with the new software. It went ok, but I worry every time we make a change. Priming, phasing, impeller issues, running a pump backwards. If there's an issue, the transformer can overload and then the whole station stops. There isn't much fresh water stored, so it wouldn't take long for the whole city to feel it. And that assumes we wouldn't get an inundation. She knew what he meant. The systems that kept them safe were fragile and budget cuts led to reductions in maintenance, making them more fragile.

I wanted to ask you about Annie May. He stopped shoveling food into his mouth. Oh? Well, yeah. I've been to two Annie Mays now and, well, I don't know. He was very attentive as she spoke. The little mementos were interesting. One had a pile of rocks and a spiral of pebbles. The other had a spiral of pinecones. What's with the spirals? He put his plate aside. Well, I see them a lot. Sometimes there are flowers, but not just any flowers. Roses, sunflowers, dahlias. Sometimes there are empty snail shells. But what's the point? He looked up and thought a bit. I used to think it was gifts, but that didn't make sense. It's all worthless stuff. Now I think it's a way for people to say they exist. That they've been there. She considered that. It felt right. Those things being there required a hand to put them in place. And she pictured the flash of the girl's fingers as she braided the two loops, a silent record of the two of them encircling the tree.

Reggie left and she returned to the kitchen to help finish up. Everything was cleaned, put away, and waiting for tomorrow. They turned off the lights, closed and locked the door. Jaime took the keys and they went upstairs, wishing each person Goodnight as they left at their floor.

In her room, she started to pedal. She was exhausted, but if she didn't pedal, her phone would be dead in the morning and then there'd be no little Annie May adventures. Although, maybe that'd be for the best, since she couldn't be late for k-crew again. As she pushed, she realized she'd forgotten to thank Reggie for sending her the app. Well, no matter. She'd tell him next time she saw him. Finally, she fell into bed. As she drifted off, she heard the voice again. Tell him.

 

Chapter 18:

She and her brother and sister had been standing at the bus station with her parents. They were saying goodbye before her parents got on the bus to The End of the Line. Her parents had spent a long time thinking about when to take the trip. They weren't all that old, but they'd been living with her sister ever since their house had been repossessed and it hadn't been going well for either side. Her tiny one-bedroom couldn't take them and her brother was in a group apartment with other people who were in the first stages of their career - a precursor to big group facilities like she was in now. Yeah, her sister was in a house, but it belonged to her partner's parents, who had taken her in when she and her partner got serious.

There was a special waiting area for The End of the Line, sort of like a business-class lounge. Nice comfy chairs, drinks, snacks, and a screen showing the resort. Scenes of smiling snowy-haired people in a swimming pool, at the disco, singing karaoke, clapping at a show, mounding food on their plates at an endless buffet table, rotated with Welcome to your reward! You deserve all this and more! The vibe in the room was decidedly less fun. There were little huddles, much like her and her parents, keeping distance from other groups.

No one had much with them. Her parents had packed a few clothes, just the basics. Her mother had brought her favorite book, The Secret Garden. She had read them that book over and over when the three of them had been little. Her father had just laughed at the idea of bringing some sort of memento or talisman. It's going to be a new adventure. It'll just weigh me down. And, besides, everything I need to remember is already here in my heart. Come on, cheer up! We're going to have a great time. We won't have anything to worry about. Her father added, I'm so proud of you all. Each of you Making America Great Again! Her mother's face went blank at that. Your father is right. You have all started your own lives, you have jobs, thank God, and your future is ahead of you. We're done and we're going out in style. They all hugged and she felt her mother sigh. She choked back a sob, but didn't want to ruin this moment by breaking down.

Then the chime ran, announcing it was time to go. Everyone surged out of the room, younger helping older, carrying their things, providing a hand. They watched their parents climb the stairs into the bus and waved until they couldn't see them anymore. The bus pulled away as they watched, tooting its horn. And the toots went on and on. And it was her alarm waking her. What? Right! She has to get down to the kitchen fast.

She dashed into the bathroom and recoiled at her reflection in the mirror. Who was that? She had been so different all those years ago when they'd said goodbye at the bus station. She threw water on her face and ran her hands through her hair. She had her mother's hair. Well, the color at least, not the luster. That sheen that people had when they grew up in the abundance, before America was invaded by immigrant rapists and drug-dealing terrorists and had to be Made Great Again. And now her own hair, her limp, dull hair, had started going gray. Whatever. She wouldn't, couldn't think of it now.

She left in a hurry and just barely stopped herself from slamming the door behind her. Her neighbors wouldn't appreciate being awoken at 0600 and she didn't need any complaints. She pelted down the stairs, images of her childhood in her head. Her father teaching her how to shoot, plinking cans and bottles in the backyard. Her mother hugging her after her favorite teacher had been fired for answering a question about men who didn't want to be men. She started reciting The Past is Prison. Freedom is Now. That helped.

The kitchen was already warm, full of delicious smells. Cinnamon! Butter! Caramelized sugar! She breathed in lungfuls of comfort. Yes, Freedom is Now. Right now, she was safe. Jaime, you are amazing! Those buns smell incredible! Do you need any help? He smiled. Nope, all under control She watched as he finished coiling the last pastry into a spiral and drizzled on some icing. Wait, wasn't that an Annie May spiral? Before she could ask, Jaime turned, Do you want me on potatoes, bell peppers or onions? The others poured in, grabbing aprons. And they started the sprint to get everything ready.

 

Chapter 19:

 

Breakfast went well and she felt she'd redeemed herself with the team. They congratulated each other, heaping special praise on Jaime and his cinnamon buns, and then left for work.

 

She walked slowly, back to considering how and what to tell her boss. The Annie May girl had just reinforced what she'd already decided. Now that she knew, she couldn't unknow. Well, she'd stick with what's worked in the past. Just the facts. What she knew. No speculation, no emotion. No nonsense, following the tone he set. She entered the building, a bit disappointed that her phone hadn't sent her another Annie May to rescue her from her own Gethsemane.

 

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she pedaled under her desk, starting on her daily quota. She'd drafted a personal direct message. She'd never written him and she worried about using this channel. But he often said at the end of briefings that they could message him. And he'd sounded sincere, looking straight into the camera.

 

Sir, I have been working on the analysis of calorie requirements resulting from the recent update of the building energy policy. I have some questions, based on what I've found so far. I would be grateful for the opportunity to discuss with you.

 

Should she add that she was working alone on this analysis? She didn’t want to drag Raj into anything. Or would that make the boss think she hadn’t prepared properly? Should she add “personally” to the last sentence? She didn’t want some flunky to demand her work, promising they’d pass to the boss. Or would that make this seem like she’s angling for some sort of inappropriate relationship? Maybe she should say it involves the energy generation? Or would that trigger the AI system and get the oversight office involved? D****t. She could waste even more hours trying to second guess everything. Anne May said Tell him. Fine. She’d take out the second sentence and reshape the third. Just do it.

 

Sir, I have been working on the analysis of calorie requirements resulting from the recent update of the building energy policy. I would be grateful for the opportunity to tell you what I’ve gathered.

 

"... what I've gathered" Geez, that sounds like some sort of harvest. "...what I've uncovered." Oh no! Definitely not. "... what I've found". Hmm, better. Has the air of chance to it. Not like I was hunting for something. Innocently crunching numbers. La, la, la. "... what I've seen." Maybe, but that has an aspect of eyewitness and she'd not "seen" anything, just numbers. "... what I've calculated." Ah, that's it! Neutral, factual.

 

Sir, I have been working on the analysis of calorie requirements resulting from the recent update of the building energy policy. I would be grateful for the opportunity to tell you what I've calculated.

 

Send. And it was gone. She sat at her desk, pedaling slowly. What had her mom said when starting something risky? Alia iacta est, whatever that meant. But her heart was beating fast. Way too fast. And she remembered her mother. How she laughed when her brother had made his stupid jokes. He'd ask, What did one tree say to the other? And every time, she'd reply, What? And he'd crack up, I'm bigger than you are. And her mother joined in the laughter. How she'd helped her sister when kids in her class were bullying her because her breasts grew before the other girls, and she'd marched up to the principal’s office and demanded the principle tell her teacher to maintain a respectful learning environment where girls and boys are equal. And her mother had made cinnamon buns. Not as polished as Jaime's and they came from a tube, but the kids had smeared the glaze over them before putting them in the oven.

 

She ached inside. It had been years and years. She hadn't had any way to help back then. And it was her parents' decision. They said they didn't want to be a burden. They said they'd wanted to live free to the end, not dependent, sucking at the teat of the deep state (well, that was dad). And so they'd taken the government's offer and went away. There hadn't been much left behind. Just some clothes that they'd donated and a few of her mother's books that they'd divided. She still had Alice in Wonderland. It was the only thing from back then that she'd managed to hold onto. She pedaled, stifling her sobs, as the tears fell onto her desk. The Past is Prison. Freedom is Now.

 

Warble, warble. Warble, warble. Flashing on her screen, Accept Call?

 

Chapter 20:

OK, OK, OK. Deep breath. Here we go. She clicked Yes. The camera light went on and there he was. Thanks, Christine, for reaching out to me. I know this is a big change for you all there, but I appreciate your engagement.

Well, that was all opaque bureaucratic gobbledygook with undertones of Are you going to make trouble about this and hints of I think you're trying to inflate your importance. She responded in the same register.

Thank you, Sir, for contacting me so quickly. Your consultative approach is greatly valued here and I apologize for the time it's taken for me to get back to you after the briefing. I've put together a full review of energy usage here and potential production from the team to add to the baseline production from the solar and geothermal installations and central power allocations. I'm having trouble, however, reaching a conclusion consistent with the fundamentals. And she stopped, keeping steady eye contact with the camera.

He'd looked bored as she went through her speech, until her last phrase narrowed his eyes. And she watched the traces of his thoughts flicker over his face. He guessed there was trouble in the offing, but just couldn't tell what kind of trouble. She had asked two questions at the briefing, one more than was prudent and two more than everyone else, so she worried him.

Certainly, he'd pulled her file before deciding whether to call. Her track record at the firm was good. High productivity, reliable, not too much fraternizing, and she'd been there for ages. On the other hand, there was that time shortly after she started at the firm. They'd bought her indenture from her first employer, but had unilaterally converted it to their own standard form, changing some of the terms. It wasn't that the terms were worse, it's just that she hadn't agreed to them. It wasn't right. She'd refused to accept this fait accompli and demanded they revert to the original terms. And she'd refused to work until it was done. Things had just started changing then and the law around indentures was still being established. At the time, people with her skill set were in very short supply, so in the end the firm made the changes for her. But she'd been marked as someone to watch.

Of course, the firm then lobbied Congress to get the law amended to establish standard language for indentures. It was all very high minded. To strengthen this innovative way for people to secure their future and meet their needs independent of government assistance, the law needed to protect the investment of the indenture holder who provided housing, food, and health care in a long-term agreement of mutual support. Congress also required that all indenture disputes be addressed through mediation, purportedly to avoid putting additional burdens on already overloaded courts, but effectively eliminating judicial review.

Supply or demand? She echoed his clipped style. Supply. That brought him up short. From staff? She shook her head. She heard his intake of breath. Thanks, Christine. We don't need to take time to go over anything now. I have a trip planned down there at the end of the week, so I'll drop by your office. I'm sure this is straightforward. See you then. And he ended the call.

She sat with her racing heart and clammy palms. He didn't want to discuss it virtually. He must think she's onto to something potentially dangerous. She started gaming out the possibilities of what he'd do if he were involved. Nope. That wouldn't do anything good, just make her jittery and attract bad attention. She'd thrown the die, now she needed to see where it landed.

Before going back to her work, she set an alarm, so she'd leave on time. The k-crew would report her if she were late again. She couldn't concentrate at all. She'd start in panic, thinking it was late, then she'd double and triple check the alarm, before going back to her columns of numbers. This cycled over and over until the alarm finally rang.

She hustled out of the building, passing Raj on the way. Sorry! Can't talk. I'm on kitchen crew this week. Raj waved her on. As she strode down the street, she glanced at the pine and it all came back to her. The prickles of the pine needles, the warmth of the girl, the roughness of the trunk, and then that calm feeling of connection. She gave a sigh, shrugged her shoulders and let the stress bleed away with each step. As she neared home, she started planning how to pickle some of the tomatoes from tonight's dinner.