The Pioneers

Chapter 13

The previous night, Amaryllis had worked until her hands bled.

         It was no wonder that Ethan came home every night unwilling to say a word. He was being worked to the breaking point—even more so now that he was having to work during sleeping hours, too.

         She tried to hide her blisters from the men when she arrived at her workplace . . . it was hard when every time she picked up a screwdriver it stung to death. With the pain, she had to keep a monster grip on the tools and hope that nobody noticed her wincing.

              By the time to workday was over, Amaryllis shoved papers into her pockets, hiding her hands inside along with them. Nobody questioned her. She was scolded for showing up late, but not questioned.

            The crowd had seen them yelling at her and were quick to obey when it was time to leave. Everyone beat her to the door, crowding around her in an attempt to be one of the first to leave. Small or not, Amaryllis wasn't able to squeeze through any of them.

            The man who'd been directing them disappeared behind a second door on the other side of the room.

                She sighed, turning away from the crowd and heading toward the door. The assignment that day had taken longer than expected; she didn't have time to keep Ethan waiting. Not when their work at the elevator had gone so slowly the previous night . . .

               Through the door, there was a new hall. It had a turn up ahead which, once she'd made it there, she found it did lead back to the entrance.

               The entrance that was still packed with seventy or so people.

              I have to get back to . . .

              The door beside her shut.

              Amaryllis looked over her shoulder.

              There's still . . .

              She put her hand on the door, creaking it opened.

             With the entrance blocked, she would have an excuse to investigate.

* * *

The new, new hallway she had found by walking through the door only went on for a few paces, in complete darkness, until she found the last mystery door she'd open for the night.

          Amaryllis could hear voices on the other side. When she found the doorknob, she twisted, and then slowly opened the door to a crack so she could peak inside.

           "—Probably only two or three years."

           "Only?"

           "Better than ten."

           "How do we keep the people down here busy until then?"

           Amaryllis's eyes adjusted to the light as they spoke. They were low in pigment, they always had been. Anything brighter than a dull flashlight literally brought tears to her eyes.

            "We might consider giving some mechanisms back to them," the first voice said. It was a woman, this time, no accent. "Simple things, first. Game consoles for the kids, televisions to go along with it. Maybe a few shows for adults."

            "What are we supposed to air?" The man said, accent different from the others, but still foreign and thick.

            "We don't have to air anything. DVDs still exist. We'll hand out those."

             "Why not books?"

             "Books can't be manipulated. Not easily, anyways."

              ". . . If we can manipulate the electronics, how can we be sure that someone out there can't?"

               Entertainment, Amaryllis thought. Why?

               "We're still small in numbers," the woman said. "The chances of someone smart enough for that 'out there' isn't probable. Not yet."

               The main light source came from where the voices were coming from. It was flickering and reflecting to the floor, sometimes appearing orange, but mostly a bright blue. Amaryllis opened the crack of the door wider, pushing her head through enough that she could see . . .

           Something . . .

           "They'll want more after that," the man said. "Especially after they think they have rights again."

           "Well, then maybe we'll send a few people up before the first wave," the woman said. "Only little by little, starting with the elderly without kids, kids without parents—things like that. The elderly card is the easiest to play . . . people like to think they're being generous."

            What "wave"?

            She pushed far enough that she could see.

            The man and the woman were standing alongside three or for other colleagues, all in a room that looked like it was meant to mimic a cavern. The two talking had notebooks in their hands, scribbling down any points that the other made. What they were wearing was unclear . . . the light from behind turned them all into silhouettes.

             Amaryllis had to hold her hand up to completely face the light.

            Another skyscraper, in the middle of the room.

            It reached up and above, beyond the ceiling and probably reaching thousands of feet above them. The lights from behind windows were where the blue came from, silhouetting the people that were inside, too. Anything above the ceiling must've been blacked out—that was how they'd keep it hidden.

         And . . . that's where our mechanical work has been going.

         Behind the skyscraper, wings wrapped around as if hugging it, was a dragon.

          A mechanical dragon with two broken down wings, a beaten up snout, and feet that looked like they'd strapped a bomb to in order to see what would happen.

           She couldn't find any of the specific pieces that she'd made, but she was willing to bet they'd gone up around the snout.

             A small amount of orange fire protruded from it, only every couple of seconds. Fire.

              Which was why they'd needed hefty wiring.

               Amaryllis tucked her head back inside the hallway, walking until she hit the second door, and then ran down the path to the entrance, where people had cleared away.

                Wave.

                 Her only hope was that Ethan would be able to translate.