Inside the Palisade

Gamma has stood me up again. I glance at the communicator on my wrist to check the time, tapping on the glass with a chipped fingernail. The other girls are already packing up their lunches, dumping apple cores and handfuls of cherry pits into the composting unit in the corner. This breakroom is a new innovation, a converted storage area that can no longer store anything due to flooding. I suppose the powers-that-be don’t mind if the workers get flooded, as long as the dye is saved.

The room empties as the girls wander off to take advantage of the last few minutes of the break. There’s only a handful of the hundred or so women from the day shift left hanging around the benches, watching news updates on the wallscreen. The headlines are always the same. The shortages continue, but it’s nothing to worry about. The weather? No rain in sight. We’re lucky we have a good irrigation system for the farmlands. I look through the grimy pane of glass that serves as the one point of natural light. The rest of the illumination is provided by overhead bulbs that aren’t replaced as often as they should be.

Stretching the sleeve of my tunic over my wrist, I wipe a layer of grease from the window and press my eye to it. No sign of my best friend amidst the girls smoking on the patch of dirt outside. I glance with some jealousy over their heads to the farmland in the valley below. I wanted to be a farmworker when I left school, but my mother preferred a more contained environment. Now I’m trapped in this clunky old factory, reverberating with the sounds of machinery while the farmwomen get to soak up the sun. Clad in loose fitted smocks and broad-brimmed wicker hats, they pick apples in the orchards. If I squint into the far distance, I can make out the dark line of the palisade, marking the boundaries of our existence. I wonder if there’s anything green left out there. Perhaps we are all alone, an oasis in the middle of a
wasteland. A barren desert said to be filled with hordes of
demen.
If they haven’t all died out. Victims of their own destructive urges.

The buzzer startles me and I bang my forehead against the glass. Someone sniggers, but I ignore her. I haven’t worked here long but have already gained a reputation for being less than graceful. Like at school. Sliding the untouched nutri-bar into my pocket, I head for the door. Its hinges are askew and one panel bangs against the other as I walk through. The factory floor opens out before me. It’s still a little overwhelming: ancient machines chugging and churning, floor pulsing with their rhythm, tracking the time like a giant clock.

“Omega!” It’s my supervisor, Tau. Her voice is unpleasant at the best of times and even more grating when amplified from thirty feet away over the din of the machinery. She looks like a pug, small and wrinkled. “If you’re not doing anything useful, go and get some dye.”

A verbal response is pointless against the noise, so I give her a thumbs up and head for the staircase at the far wall. I know what color she needs. Olive. The color of my skin. And the farm workers’ uniforms. We’re providing for them today.

Sweat beads on my brow as I walk up the stairs, using the twisted guardrail for support. I’ve never liked heights. The creaking of the metal beneath my feet makes me nervous. With the shortage of engineers, no one has the time to monitor the condition of little things like stairs, but it’s as easy to die from a fall as from an engine malfunction. They used to keep the dye on ground level in what is now the breakroom until a rusty pipe burst. Now we keep it in the rafters and send it down on pulleys. Mom says we can expect more of this: stuff breaking down, impossible to repair. She thinks our society is eating itself up. Maybe she’s right. Our clothes are patched more often than replaced, and in my last cycle at school, they stopped sweetening our milk with chocolate powder. Patched clothes I can deal with,
but I miss chocolate. At least we still have milk as long as the irrigation systems hold up and we can maintain our herd of cattle.

At the top of the walkway, I swipe my communicator over the keypad to open the storage room door. The dimly lit space is divided into rows of clearly labeled shelving each containing barrels of dye in different sizes and colors. The light bulbs pop and spark as I make my way to the inventory screen. A number of bulbs have blown here too, and haven’t been replaced. Most of the outside areas are fully converted to solar light, but the inside hasn’t fared so well. Not enough engineers to do the conversion.

I punch a request for the dye into the monitor. After a brief hum and a burst of static, the screen displays the location in flickering green type by row and shelf number. Naturally, it’s at the farthest end of the room. I grab a mobile platform. It shudders and drags until I remember to kick off the brake. That’s when I hear a throaty moan somewhere ahead of me.

Great. I’m not alone.

“May-
gah,
where’s that dye?” Tau’s voice crackles through my communicator. The moaning stops, replaced by loud whispers and the unmistakable rustle of clothing being adjusted.

I press the button to respond. “On its way.”

Two figures emerge from the shadows. Their faces are flushed as they straighten their tunics. One of the girls is thin and blonde. The other is Gamma. Of course. I should have known my best friend would be here when she stood me up for lunch. The storeroom is kind of like her private office, the place she likes to go to avoid actual work.

The blonde glares at me.
Chi Enne.
One of the girls who makes fun of my gawkiness and frequent daydreaming. She flicks a lock of her golden hair over her shoulder and puts on an affected cough, as if my presence offends her. Involuntarily, I run a hand down my own scraggly braid, pulling away at the feel of the split ends.

Gamma’s out of breath, cheeks crimson. She adjusts her belt, accentuating her generous curves. Her brown eyes sparkle, and tendrils of her dark hair escape from her braid. Looking at her perfect features, punctuated by a smattering of freckles across her nose, I can’t help wondering how she ended up in the factory. She must be destined for something greater. She claims not to have found her Calling, but when we were younger she had her heart set on a glamorous research job. Her mother could arrange it for her, given their clout. She definitely has the brains for it, even though she hides them behind a flirty front. Sometimes I wonder how much of her antics are just for show. We’ve been best friends forever, but there are parts of her she doesn’t share with me.

“I was getting some dye,” I say, as if I owe them an explanation.

Chi turns to grasp Gamma’s elbow. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” She starts to steer my best friend to the door, but Gamma pulls away.

“Give us a few minutes?” Gamma sounds playful, but Chi frowns at her. “I’ll be right behind you. I promise.” Gamma runs a thumb along Chi’s cheekbone.

Chi glares at me before leaving. As the door closes behind her, the lights buzz.

“I’m
so
sorry.” Gamma rushes over to me, eyes wide and innocent. “I know I was supposed to meet you for lunch, but then Chi, well, we lost track of time.”

“Not really my business, is it?”

“Don’t be like that. We just hooked up on smoke break.”

“Gamma! Your mother would kill you for smoking.”

“Oh, relax.” She nudges my shoulder with her own. “I only took one drag. I wanted to see what it was like, you know, before we run out of cigs altogether.”

I glance at the shelf numbers, trying to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing. Reaching for the platform, I drag it behind me down the aisle. It jerks to a stop, causing me to lose my grip
as Gamma bounces on it to weigh it down. I turn to face her, hands planted on my hips. She’s only inches away. Standing on the platform, she’s almost as tall as me.

“What are you doing?” I try to scowl but her grin is infectious. Her honeysuckle scent infuses the air around us. Despite the shortages of everything else, most of the girls have figured out how to make their own fragrances from the flowers available inside the palisade.

“Nothing.” She looks down at my fingers wrapped around the platform’s handle before looping her three middle fingers around mine and tugging, the way she did when we were kids. “Sorry about lunch,” she says again, before leaning forward and pecking me on the cheek. I bat her away, but she dodges me. I’ve never known how seriously to take her flirtations. She only ever seems to be joking around with me, but I don’t want to lead her on. I’ve never felt that way about her, about anyone. Maybe there’s something wrong with me.

I sway on my feet and grip the handle of the platform.

“Omega, what’s wrong?” Gamma says.

I swallow and shake my head to clear it, blinking in an attempt to get the world back into focus. A pool of sweat dampens my undershirt between my shoulder blades. “I’m okay.” My voice comes out shaky. “Just a dizzy spell.”

“No wonder. I bet you didn’t even eat today. Here, let me help you.” She drops from the platform and moves me aside to take the handle herself in one hand while rubbing my arm with the other. Her touch is soothing. The honeysuckle fragrance intensifies.

“Where are we headed?” she asks. I point to a row up ahead and start to move forward, slowly at first to make sure the dizziness has passed.

Gamma continues to drag the platform as we move. “Did you eat anything for lunch?” she asks. “I bet you’re not feeding yourself while your mom’s away. Any update on when she’s
coming back?”

“I’m not sure.” Mom didn’t tell me how long she thought she’d be gone. There’s no way of knowing really with these retreats. Motherhood was her original Calling but that job is done now. So she signed up to attend the retraining retreat at the far opposite end of the compound from the housing quarters. It’s supposed to be based on the vision quests of long dead inhabitants of our world, to help women find a new direction if their initial Calling is fulfilled. No one is allowed to enter unless they have been admitted to the retreat, and the participants are never permitted to speak about the details of what they experience there. There’s no fixed timing for a woman’s stay there. It all depends on her individual quest.

“What do you think she’ll end up doing?” Gamma says. “Wouldn’t it be funny if she ended up in the factory with us?”

“That would be too weird,” I say. I love my mom, but there’s only so much togetherness I can take, particularly given how over-protective she can be when it comes to me.

“Seriously, are you doing okay without her?” Gamma asks, narrowing her eyes. “You’re definitely not eating. I swear you’ve lost weight since yesterday, and you were already such a beanpole. I knew you wouldn’t eat if your mom wasn’t feeding you.” She shakes her head. “You’re coming over for dinner tonight. No arguments.”

“May-gah!” Tau’s voice blares through the communicator on my wrist. “Where’s that dye?”