Sir, There's Talk of a Revolution

Careful Hunting

The Assist was in a constant state of internal debate. Every action she took, every word she uttered, all of it was thought of extensively before done. Whenever the Captain spoke to her, lecturing her about the necessary virtues of an individual in her role, she always left conflicted. To follow the callous Captain who seemed to be all-knowing or protect the savage members who wouldn't think twice before ending her. There was no winning side.

It was not lost on the Assist that violent outbursts were not contained to just those accused of wicked acts, but to anyone who looked as if they would be involved. Just as the one member who woke up with only seven toes and six fingers, alongside the similarly traumatised suspected member of stealing a dying member's food supplies - with no evidence to the claim, of course. He had screamed in so much terror that, after his voice strained so severely he began spitting out blood, the only way members thought to silence him was to get rid of him.

Overboard. Alive.

He cried out, even then, that he was innocent, merely the messenger of the supposed discovery of the thief, a man only doing his job. That didn't matter though. In the eyes of the members, he was as guilty as the supposed thief. Why? How? Nobody questioned, so nobody knew. The Assist didn't want to be him. A bystander the mob turned to when one to blame was not enough for their bloodthirsty hearts.

When the Captain would say,"Go on and tell Assigner to reduce those rations, would you," she listened. And when he ordered, "Supply, uhh, tell 'em to request a larger transference this time," she listened again. The meals became smaller and smaller, the members hungrier and hungrier, and the supplies larger. The hungrier they became, the angrier. Disputes, fights, attacks over the most unimportant and minuscule issues. The chaos, the violence. Members were exhausted. The Assist watched as the members crumbled before her eyes, the collapse of their society. So, when the Captain told her, "Assigner has to go lower, kid, abundance is not a word we know," she did not listen. She did the opposite.

When the Supply informed her that there was a slightly higher quantity of supplies, she would tell the Assigner there was slightly less. And when the Fixer claimed there was enough resources to repair some damage, she would tell the Supply to request more. She took nothing at face value, refusing to be blamed for the incompetence or malicious lies of another. She was not going to suffer those consequences.

There was a knock on the Assist's door. She stepped out of her haven to meet the patient Fixer outside. "I need you to tell Supply for two batches of Bundle Six and Nine," he stated. There must have been another significant damage on the ship, she thought, his requests specifically for these materials had been often.

The Assist thought this over, remembering,"We've got plenty of those. Ask Assigner for more of them, Supply if he hasn't gotten any left."

"I did. Said they're out. Doesn't make sense but, that's how it is."

They shared a knowing look. Missing supplies? The Assist knew that meant trouble.

"I'll check it out, find out where it is" she offered, making her way to find the Supply. A faint 'thank you' behind her.

The Assigner was irritated at the questioning of his work, the Assist could tell, fiercely defending himself, "Look, I was told that the Mother V was coming early, so I assigned according to that. I did my job, I did it well. None of that is my problem." His tone was aggressive as he spoke quickly, tripping over his words, and distancing himself from the Assist.

"No, I told you, Assigner, that the Mother Vessel was coming as it has done for as long as anyone on this ship can remember. Four weeks, Assigner, four."

"That is not what Captain said," the Assigner blurted out. The Assist was confused.

"And you know that, how?" She curiously asked, stepping closer to the Assigner, who picked up a large box, placing it elsewhere and started unpacking it.