Kingdom of Cages (10 page)

At least on the pile you could stop to get a drink from the barrel of water near the shovel rack, or go take a pee in the
pit-toilet shed out back whenever you wanted. As far as Chena could tell, the people on the bikes just had to keep going until
the guy came around to open the side and either pour in more water, dirt, and garbage, or dump the black stuff out into another
pile that they had to shovel into more barrows.

Eventually the uncle at the door rang a handbell and they got to stop. A pair of kids had come around from the dining hall
with a kettle of the same cereal they’d had for breakfast. After the fourth meal straight, it was getting tiring, but Chena
ate. It wasn’t like there was anything anybody could have done.

Nobody talked while they ate, not even Sadia. They just concentrated on their food, or stretching out their shoulders or legs.

Chena scraped her bowl clean and emptied her water cup. She got a glance from Sadia that was both wry and cynical. She scooted
in a little closer.

“What is all this?” she asked, gesturing around the shed.

“Composting, mostly.” Sadia saw Chena’s blank look and explained how the garbage and dirt that went into the drums got turned
into fertilizer for the fields that grew the food. “And water purification too.” She nodded toward the canal filters.

“Shouldn’t there be machines doing this?” asked Chena.

Sadia gave her the lopsided smile again. “If they used machines, what would they do with us?”

“What do you mean?”

“They got to do something with us, don’t they?” Sadia scowled and stabbed her spoon into the bottom of her bowl. “Can’t have
us running all over their precious woods doing whatever we want can they?”

“Shht,” hissed one of the older women. “Sadia, don’t start it. Your people have enough trouble.”

“It’s true,” Sadia shot back. “And everybody here knows it, so why shouldn’t I warn the freshies?”

“Because it’s not true,” said another woman. She sat to Sadia’s right and wore her graying hair in a braid long enough to
tuck into her belt. “Listen, what’s your name?” Chena told her. “Listen, Chena.” She leaned forward, and Chena couldn’t tell
if she was faking being serious or if she was really trying to be earnest. “The idea is to create and maintain a series of
ecologically stable communities so we can continue to live here and be healthy, without any of the troubles they have on the
Called worlds, where they just landed and started hacking away at things.”

“You tell her, Mae,” said one of the men, shoveling the last of his cereal into his bearded face.

“ ’Cause we heard already,” said another man, elbowing his friend in the ribs. A general chuckle rose from the crowd.

“We’re not dying,” said one of the younger men, from the back of the group.

“No, none of us die,” said a squat, dark woman with lines on her face and thick calluses on her hands. “Not unless we get
sick, of course. Mostly, we just disappear.”

“Stop trying to scare the kid,” snapped Mae. “The hothousers only take volunteers or lawbreakers, and you know it.”

The shadow of the door-watching uncle fell over the lunch crowd. “And if you’ve got time to talk about all this, obviously
you’re done with lunch.” He stood aside and gestured toward their abandoned posts.

There was a general groan and a bunch of dirty looks, but no one protested. They just all got to their feet and piled the
bowls and cups in the bin that one of the kitchen kids carried and all went back to work. Even Sadia, but not without giving
Chena a look that said,
Told you.

After lunch, the work got shifted and she and Sadia got put on the pedal bikes to roll the compost drums around. Sadia had
said that some of the stuff in there came out of the toilet shed. That could not be true.

At least, that was what she believed until she and Sadia got taken off the bikes and given a barrow to follow Mae and some
other old woman around to the various toilet sheds and help them empty the boxes and cart the dirt and clay away.

For kids under fifteen, the shift was only six hours long, but it felt like forever. By the end, every fiber in Chena’s body
ached. Despite the gloves, fat white blisters appeared on her hands. She staggered out of the shed next to Sadia. Sadia wasn’t
looking at her, though; she was scanning the paths. Chena knew she was looking for Shond.

“Gods below, I am dead,” said Chena. She reached up to rub her shoulder, and winced as the motion made her elbow and hand
hurt worse. “Where do we get the relax patches?”

Sadia glanced down at her and then away to the paths again. “The what?”

Chena frowned and leaned back against the shed wall. “The relax patches. Or an aspirin. I’d settle for an aspirin.”

“What’s that for?”

“The pain.” Chena was about to ask if she was kidding, then she saw the complete lack of understanding on Sadia’s face. She
was not kidding. She had never heard of these things.

“But there’s got to be something. I’m not going to make it back to the dorm like this.”

That got Sadia to look down and really see her. “Are you serious?” she asked. “How bad do you hurt?”

“How bad do I have to hurt? Come on, Sadia. If there’s something, you’ve got to tell me. I’m dying!” She was too. Her legs
were shaking, and the top of her head felt like it was going to come off. She could barely hear the rush of the wind or trees,
her ears had been so deadened by the rumble of the compost drums.

Sadia sucked on her cheek and looked around once more for Shond, who wasn’t anywhere in sight. There were just people everywhere
coming and going with the change in shifts.

“Come on,” said Sadia. She headed for the stairway up to one of the catwalks.

The last thing Chena wanted to do was to climb, but if it was going to take her to a relax patch or an aspirin, she would
do anything. Maybe it would only be one level. She couldn’t take that long anyway. She had to get back for Teal. Sadia knew
that. Well, Teal would be okay waiting for a little bit.

It wasn’t just one level. Sadia led her up three levels. The higher they went, the thinner the crowds got and the farther
spread out the houses were. Eventually the noise of the village just fell away, replaced by the rattling of the leaves and
the chatter of the birds.

Sadia took her up one more short set of stairs, and Chena felt like her legs were going to scream out loud with pain. She
was about to open her mouth to tell Sadia that even a whole-body anesthetic wasn’t worth another step when Sadia turned to
her.

“Get in line. I’ll see you.” With that, she turned and ran down the steps, heading full tilt to the main village.

Chena’s jaw dropped. What was she supposed to do now?

She saw the line that Sadia was talking about. Half a dozen men and women, a couple with babies in their arms, waited on the
catwalk in front of a house that was almost lost in the shadows.

Actually, it wasn’t just one house, it looked more like three different houses that had allowed their roofs to group together.

One of the babies bawled, a high thin sound that grated against Chena’s aching eardrums. She didn’t want to stay, but she
couldn’t face trying to climb a hundred feet down on her shaking legs. So Chena got in line like she’d been told. After all,
Sadia was her friend. She wouldn’t have brought her here if there wasn’t some kind of help like Chena has asked for.

But then, why did she leave?
Chena collapsed into the line behind a woman with a long, red, puckered scar running up her forearm.

Probably she saw Shond,
Chena thought, answering her own question. Then she felt a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t even stopped to look for Teal. Who
knew where she had gotten to? That was what she’d do first thing when she got her relax patch.

Every now and again, someone, or a couple of someones, would come out of the grown-together houses, and someone else would
go in. The sun filtered through the leaves overhead and warmed Chena’s skin. She fell into a doze, and only woke when someone
poked her in the ribs and muttered, “Your turn.”

Chena tried to stand up and promptly fell over. She bit her lip, partly to avoid screaming as she unfolded her legs, which
seemed to have locked solid, and partly to avoid yelling at the people in the line behind her who were chuckling.

She waved away a hand that reached to help her and grabbed the railing, pulling herself upright. She forced her rusty legs
to carry her into the darkened doorway. Whatever they had in here, it had better be good.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. When they did, she found herself in the strangest room she had ever
seen. It looked like a cross between an ancient library and a witch’s cottage out of a rig game. Where the walls were not
lined with glass pipes full of green algae and silver fish, they were lined with shelves of books. Bags and bundles of things
Chena could not begin to identify hung from dozens of hooks on the ceiling. There was a brick stove in the corner, and four
or five tables placed around the room. Next to the biggest table stood the stooped old woman that Chena had last seen on the
rooftop of the dormitory.

Apparently the old woman recoginzed her too. Her sunken mouth gaped into a smile.

“Station girl!” she exclaimed, clicking her tongue against her few remaining teeth. “I didn’t expect to see you here so soon.”

Chena had to clear her throat before she could speak.

“I was told I could get a relax patch here.”

The old woman—what did she call herself? Nan Elle, that was it— frowned. “What would you want with such a thing?”

Chena spread her hands to the ceiling. “What’s the matter with you people?” she exclaimed. “I hurt! What is the big deal about
getting a muscle relaxer?” Then she remembered another important question. “And just what do you think you got anyway? What
makes you the big woman?”

The gaping smile returned and Chena wished she had the strength to get really angry.

“I think I’ve got all you’re going to get, station girl.” She pointed one green-and-brown-stained finger at a wide wooden
chair situated under three battery lamps. “You want help? Sit.”

Chena hesitated. She really wanted to walk out of there, but she hurt so bad. If this old wreck really did have something
…

Chena hobbled over to the chair and sat.

Nan Elle puttered around Chena. She snapped on one of the lights and peered into Chena’s eyes. She grabbed both of Chena’s
shoulders with her gnarled hands and squeezed until Chena yelped.

“Mmmm. What have you been doing today, station girl?”

“My name is Chena!” Chena jerked her shoulders out of Nan Elle’s grip.

“So I’ve been informed.” Nan Elle took one of Chena’s arms and flexed it. Her hands were a lot stronger than they looked,
and Chena felt if she struggled she would end up with bruises in addition to all her other pains. “What have you been doing
today, Chena?”

“Shoveling, mostly. I was in the recycling shed.”

“That’s not a place they put freshies.” Nan Elle flexed Chena’s other arm. She smelled like bad breath and peppermint.

“They do if you ask for it.”

Nan Elle circled around back of the chair. “Which just goes to show you should be careful what you ask them for.” She dug
both thumbs into the muscle on Chena’s back, and Chena screamed.

“Ow! Stop it! I thought you could help!”

Nan Elle stepped back into her line of sight, and she was grinning again. “I can. But not if I don’t know what’s wrong with
you.”

Chena tried to twist around to face the old woman and immediately regretted the movement. Pain shot up and down her back.
“What’s wrong with me is that I’ve been shoveling shit all day.”

Nan Elle nodded. “I would agree with that diagnosis.” She stepped back to the edge of the lit circle Chena sat in, becoming
a figure of shadow. “I can give you a drink for the pain and a salve that will help keep your muscles from stiffening up overnight.
But we must talk price.”

Chena had to work to keep her jaw from dropping. She hadn’t even considered that this would cost. But then, this was not Athena
Station, where there were first-aid kits on every level that the directorate kept filled for you.

“I don’t have any money.”

“Most of my people don’t. I will charge you four days’ use of that.” She pointed a bony finger at Chena’s comptroller.

Chena automatically covered the comptroller’s screen with her hand. “No. That’s mine.”

Nan Elle chuckled at her, and Chena felt the familiar flare of real anger beginning. Who was this old woman, anyway? What
did she think she had? Then a new cramp started in the back of her leg, sharp enough to keep her mouth closed against her
thoughts. Nan Elle’s eyes flickered up and down Chena, and Chena knew Nan Elle had seen the way she twitched in answer to
the new spasm.

“You would trust me with your body, station girl, but not your machine?” Nan Elle shook her head.

Chena bit her lip, and even that movement hurt. Reluctantly, she fumbled with the strap of her comptroller, pulled it off,
and set it on the table among the bundles of plants and piles of clay pots.

Nan Elle scooped it up and popped it into one of her apron pockets. “Very good. Now you wait.”

For what?
But Chena kept her mouth shut. Nan Elle receded farther into the shadows. Chena saw her pull something kidney-shaped down
off one of the hooks and heard the slosh of liquid being poured. “What is the whole hassle with getting an aspirin around
here?”

“Ah,” said Nan Elle. “The hothousers, who dictate the conditions by which we live, say that by introducing artificial means
to restrict or reroute the viral or bacterial populations, we risk damaging the balance of Pandora’s microsphere, which is
the foundation of its total ecology.” Nan Elle shuffled back into the light.

“What?”

“Antivirals and antibiotics can force microorganisms to evolve in ways that are not strictly natural. Change the microsphere,
and you might just introduce adverse changes all the way up the life chain. So, no medicines except under strict quarantine
and supervision.”