Read Online Survival Colony 9 by Joshua David Bellin - Free Book Online
Authors: Joshua David Bellin
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luxuries.”
“That’s just it,” I said, because his word reminded me of what I wanted to say. “They’re not luxuries.”
“Ballet slippers aren’t luxuries?”
“Not to them.”
“When we’re fighting a war.”
“ Life isn’t a luxury,” I said. “And if you take away the ballet slippers, you might be taking away their life.”
He looked at me piercingly. Aleka, I saw out of the corner of my eye, watched me too, her face as stern and unrevealing as ever. I wondered what ballet slippers were, heard the distant ring of Mika’s tools against the underbelly of the truck, felt the hot wind blow.
“Aleka,” my dad said at last, “would you check on the others? Tell them,” and his eyes never left mine, “that we’ll make a thorough inventory of camp equipment before returning to personal items.”
“Gladly,” she said. She left, but not before leveling one last, appraising look at me.
My dad put a hand on my arm. “I need to check the lookouts.” He let go and we circled the outskirts of camp, him limping and me following a half-step behind.
Nothing much had changed that I could tell. He’d posted sentries in the upper-story windows of a couple houses that still had upper stories. He pointed them out to me, because I wouldn’t have seen them on my own. He also told me he’d moved the two drivable trucks once more, west of our sleeping quarters, closer to the trail that led down the hill. It was obvious, he said, nodding at the dust that had accumulated against the foundations in the last couple hours, that the vehicles weren’t serving much purpose as windbreaks, and so he’d decided to put them where we could get to them and get out as quickly as possible.
“Last time was too close for comfort,” he said. “The next time we’re forced to evacuate, it’s got to be fast. No time to pack, no time to look around for anything missing.”
I knew what he was getting at, but I decided to play along. “Wouldn’t it be better to have everything loaded on the trucks?”
“The fuel’s already there,” he said. “The rest of the heavy equipment we can load on a moment’s notice. But that plus the little ones will take up all the room we have. Everything else will have to be shipped by hand.”
“Which means we can’t take personal stuff too,” I finished his thought.
He nodded, his mouth set in a line beneath his mustache. “That’s the predicament. I’ve allowed people to carry that garbage for so long, I know it’s hard for them to let go. I wish I’d done away with it from the start. Before people started to depend on it. Before they got attached.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He raked his teeth over his upper lip, let out a breath. “Guess I was being sentimental,” he said. “Trying to protect them. To give them hope.”
“And now you’re taking it away?”
He didn’t answer at first. His brow lowered, and I thought he was going to let me have it. But when he spoke his voice carried its usual tone of certainty and command.
“Some will see it that way,” he said. “Some, maybe, who don’t like following my orders. Some who might be willing to tear this colony apart if they think that’s the only way for them to end up on top.”
“Like Araz,” I said.
He shrugged. “Araz I’ve got no quarrel with. But I can’t be responsible for how people feel. They’ll have to find the hope they’re offered. Find it where it truly lies.”
“What if there’s none to find?”
His eyes narrowed. “Come again?”
“You still don’t get it,” I said. “You take away their stuff, you’re taking away who they are. Listen to Mika, banging away on a truck she knows can’t be fixed. You take away the things that let them know who they are when they wake up each morning, it won’t matter who’s in charge. You take those things away from them,” I drew a deep breath, “it’s over.”
For a second longer his eyes cornered mine. Then, moving faster than I
“That’s just it,” I said, because his word reminded me of what I wanted to say. “They’re not luxuries.”
“Ballet slippers aren’t luxuries?”
“Not to them.”
“When we’re fighting a war.”
“ Life isn’t a luxury,” I said. “And if you take away the ballet slippers, you might be taking away their life.”
He looked at me piercingly. Aleka, I saw out of the corner of my eye, watched me too, her face as stern and unrevealing as ever. I wondered what ballet slippers were, heard the distant ring of Mika’s tools against the underbelly of the truck, felt the hot wind blow.
“Aleka,” my dad said at last, “would you check on the others? Tell them,” and his eyes never left mine, “that we’ll make a thorough inventory of camp equipment before returning to personal items.”
“Gladly,” she said. She left, but not before leveling one last, appraising look at me.
My dad put a hand on my arm. “I need to check the lookouts.” He let go and we circled the outskirts of camp, him limping and me following a half-step behind.
Nothing much had changed that I could tell. He’d posted sentries in the upper-story windows of a couple houses that still had upper stories. He pointed them out to me, because I wouldn’t have seen them on my own. He also told me he’d moved the two drivable trucks once more, west of our sleeping quarters, closer to the trail that led down the hill. It was obvious, he said, nodding at the dust that had accumulated against the foundations in the last couple hours, that the vehicles weren’t serving much purpose as windbreaks, and so he’d decided to put them where we could get to them and get out as quickly as possible.
“Last time was too close for comfort,” he said. “The next time we’re forced to evacuate, it’s got to be fast. No time to pack, no time to look around for anything missing.”
I knew what he was getting at, but I decided to play along. “Wouldn’t it be better to have everything loaded on the trucks?”
“The fuel’s already there,” he said. “The rest of the heavy equipment we can load on a moment’s notice. But that plus the little ones will take up all the room we have. Everything else will have to be shipped by hand.”
“Which means we can’t take personal stuff too,” I finished his thought.
He nodded, his mouth set in a line beneath his mustache. “That’s the predicament. I’ve allowed people to carry that garbage for so long, I know it’s hard for them to let go. I wish I’d done away with it from the start. Before people started to depend on it. Before they got attached.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He raked his teeth over his upper lip, let out a breath. “Guess I was being sentimental,” he said. “Trying to protect them. To give them hope.”
“And now you’re taking it away?”
He didn’t answer at first. His brow lowered, and I thought he was going to let me have it. But when he spoke his voice carried its usual tone of certainty and command.
“Some will see it that way,” he said. “Some, maybe, who don’t like following my orders. Some who might be willing to tear this colony apart if they think that’s the only way for them to end up on top.”
“Like Araz,” I said.
He shrugged. “Araz I’ve got no quarrel with. But I can’t be responsible for how people feel. They’ll have to find the hope they’re offered. Find it where it truly lies.”
“What if there’s none to find?”
His eyes narrowed. “Come again?”
“You still don’t get it,” I said. “You take away their stuff, you’re taking away who they are. Listen to Mika, banging away on a truck she knows can’t be fixed. You take away the things that let them know who they are when they wake up each morning, it won’t matter who’s in charge. You take those things away from them,” I drew a deep breath, “it’s over.”
For a second longer his eyes cornered mine. Then, moving faster than I
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