THE EDEN DILEMMA by Tucker Spolter
Chapter 7
Iuma’s star was rising when Rechat and a small contingent of his Blues arrived at the station house. It took eight of his strongest Blues to roll back the stone doors. Accompanied by his current lover, Eem – an impish woman with black eyes and blacker hair – Rechat strolled into the repository.
Opaque rays of dawn from the ceiling gave just enough visibility to outline the neat rows of double-bar pump trolleys.
“Been a long time since I saw one of these,” Rechat said.
“I've never seen one. Weren't they banned?” Eem asked.
Rechat stepped between two rows of vehicles and nodded. “The Violators built them. Initially for transporting goods and people. And then to escape from Sagra and his so-called Council of Equals. He . . .hell, all of them want to keep people on their feet. Discontents can’t escape from Sagra, his family, or his Council if they’re forced to walk.”
Rechat ran a calloused hand over one of four bulbous Tineke tires. “If you have two strong people on the pump bars you can carry six or more people. Each person adds extra weight but then each person can serve as a relief on the bar and a pump trolley can travel far and fast. . .If the terrain allows.”
“Want to try the pump bar, Little Lady?” Rechat cupped his hands. “Climb aboard.”
Eem needed no prodding. She put her right foot in Rechat’s hands. He boosted her onto the platform with ease. Eem headed straight for the pump bar and tried to push it downward. Nothing. She grunted. The bar didn’t move. “This is hard and I’m no uchi,” Eem declared.
Rechat laughed. “You’re fighting inertia. When Ponti gets here with the rest of the Blues we’ll —”
“RECHAT? You in here?” A tall, wiry man wearing dark blue, pegged trousers, and a matching over-shirt stepped into the station house. “Your Blues are accounted for and ready for . . .” he shrugged, “Whatever. . . you command.”
Rechat helped Eem down from the pump trolley and turned. “Ponti, you did leave a squad behind to . . . Safe-guard Sagra and his wonderful family, didn’t you?”
“Twelve of the best, I always follow your orders,” Ponti grinned. “Sagra is being carefully watched — I mean safely guarded for his protection. Your reserves in Tolograd, Barker Hallow, and Efid Crossing are waiting for the outcome of this venture. Hopefully, the woman and the shuttle will be —”
“Shenzi!” Rechat crossed to Ponti in two steps. Fist clenched. His face inches from Ponti’s. “While you still have a tongue, shut up.” Rechat glared. “Tomba for brains.” Rechat looked through the open doors at the milling crowd of Blues. “Do not speak in company.” Rechat glanced over his shoulder at Eem, who quickly moved from the confrontation and disappeared between a row of pump trolleys. “You think know what I am doing?” Rechat brought the blade of a spike knife to the side of Ponti's face. “I will shove this into your ear and watch while what you call brains drip to the dirt.” Rechat drew the tip of the spike down Ponti's cheek. Droplets of blood fell on the flap of Ponti's blue over-cap. Do you understand?”
Ponti nodded and started to wipe away the trickle of blood. Rechat slapped his hand away. “Leave it there. A reminder.”
“Now bring in my Blues. Assign the strongest to a pump trolley and have them rolled outside.”
Ponti almost ran to the door. He shouted commands for a moment, then the stone doors opened wider and a small army of men, women, and a few Teeners hurried into the garage. Most were dressed in uncoordinated blue. But everyone wore a matching blue armband and a blue cap.
Rechat looked at Eem. “You sewed the armbands and caps?”
“It was a coordinated effort.” Eem smiled shyly. “An army has to start looking like an army.”
“I like the look.”
So many eager Blue’s made the task easy. With grunts and groans, twenty-four pump trolleys were wheeled out of the station house and parked in two rows of twelve. In rapid order, food, tools, and various weapons were loaded onto the platform.
When the Blues on one trolley platform decided to jam long spears into slots in the front of their vehicles, teams on the other trolleys followed suit. A group of men and women took it upon themselves to rip blue strips from a bolt of blue Tineke cloth and tie blue pennants to the tip of the spears.
Rechat grinned. “Another good look.” He turned to Eem. “We’ll need more than luck to find the woman and that damn shuttle,” he confided. “But whether we do or we don't doesn't matter. This is what I wanted. A training exercise. Who knows. . . Perhaps we’ll find some Violators to . . . train on.” Rechat's laugh was piercing.
Eem looked down the row of trolleys and cautioned. “This is a large group. There’s not a lot of food for an extended journey.”
“I know. We'll stop at Tolograd and a few villages along the way and . . . borrow some.”
Eem's dark eyebrows pulled together. “That will alienate people to your cause.”
Rechat smiled widely. “This is Sagra's mission. I'll explain it's a tax. A food tax. Sagra's food tax. People remember who imposes taxes.” Rechat caught Eem's perplexed look. “Then we will return this way with fresh efid meat, etin nuts, atio sap for their beer, and I become a hero.”
Eem grinned.
“And now I have to build an army.” Hands clasped behind his back, Rechat strolled between the
two rows of pump trolleys. There was a party atmosphere. Most of the greetings from his Blues were raucous. These folks think this is going be a camping trip, Rechat thought. Lots of drinking. Casual paring. They're in for a surprise.
Rechat found Ponti near the end of the line and pulled him aside. “Pumping these platforms is hard work. Back breaking. We’ll start slow.” Rechat's eyes swept over his Blues. “Not many are in good physical condition. Eem and I will lead. You and whomever you choose will take up the rear. Do not allow stragglers. Keep the lines together.”
Ponti nodded.
Rechat withdrew a hand-carved boatswain's whistle from a pocket on his tunic and in a single motion leaped onto the nearest trolley platform. Two shrill reports from the whistle and up and down the lines of pump trolleys all motion and conversation came to a halt. Until a chant of “Rechat! “Rechat!” rang out.
Rechat blew the whistle again. The crowd went quiet. Dramatically Rechat paced from side to side. Then turned and shouted, “Are you PROUD to be a Blue?”
There was a pause from the crowd while the Rechat’s comments were digested. Then a collective “YES!” swept up and down the files of pump trolleys.
Ponti imitated the next chant. “We are the Blues! We are the Blues!” The acoustics were perfect. The chant grew until it folded upon itself.
Rechat waited until complete silence returned. He looked out on his followers “I have a
question. . .” He paced. The Blues pushed closer to the platform stage. Rechat stopped. “Should the Blues be disbanded?”
Again, the crowd paused. Considered.
“SHOULD THE BLUES BE DISBANDED!” Rechat screamed.
“NO! NO! NO!” The crowd chanted again and again and again.
Rechat smiled. Savoring the chants and piety until the roar subsided and the Blues waited anxiously.
“Then we have work to do. Are we the Blues?”
“We are the Blues! We are the Blues.”
“ARE YOU READY?”
“WE ARE READY! WE ARE READY!”
Rechat hopped off the pump trolley and flipped the boatswain's whistle to Ponti, “Anything happens and the end of our formation blow this. Twice.”
Rechat took Eem's hand and headed for the front of the formation.
Eem smiled, then pointed to the open door of the station house. Should we shut the door?”
Rechat thought for a moment then strolled back up the road between the row of trolleys until he found two male teens dangling their legs off the back. “You are?”
The teens exchanged bewildered looks.
“I asked a question.”
The dark-skinned, curly-haired boy pointed to his chest. “I am Hett.”
The taller, blond-haired, brown-eyed boy stuttered, “I. . . I. . . I'm Jaye.
“You were 'Napped' from the Violators, correct?” They nodded. “And you want to prove yourselves? Join the Blues?” The nods were more vigorous. “How would you like to ride up front with Eem and me?”
“Yes, Sir.” They replied in unison.
“I have a task for you.” Rechat drew a spike knife from his boot and pulled a short, pointed stake from the platform. Conspiratorially, he handed one to Hett and the other to Jaye. “I want you to go inside,” Rechat pointed to the open door of the station house. And rip a big hole in every one of the tires in there. You boys think you can do that for me? For the Blues?”
Hett and Jaye bumped elbows and hopped off the platform with a, “Yes, Sir,” and disappeared into the depths of the station house with their weapons.
Moments later, Rechat climbed on the lead platform and pulled Eem up after him. At the rear of his platform, Rechat looked down the row of pump trolleys and blew a second whistle and lifted a handmade megaphone. A wave of silence passed down the line to the last pump trolleys. “Bend your backs to it Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blue. Soon the leadership will change in Lakal. Sagra and the Kalam dynasty are coming to an end. We are the future. WE . . .We are the future.”
“WE ARE THE FUTURE!” rang out. Blue caps flew into the air. “WE ARE THE FUTURE!” Chorused louder and louder. Rechat raised his arm and pointed toward the mountains. He turned to the two muscular youths at the handles of his pump trolley, “Do it.” They pushed down the bars. The trolley lurched forward.
Eem gently nudged Rechat, and above the chant whispered. “What about those kids?”
Rechat smiled. “Never trust the Napped. Children of the Violators are only cute when they’re young. And only useful as playthings and to add to the gene pool. Sagra and his cronies never should have tried to limit childbirths. Adding menta-birth-inhibitors to our water was their second mistake.”
Rechat glanced at the open door of the station house as their trolley rolled past. “Sagra, Hanar, and the Red Witch will find an interesting punishment for those Nappers when they discover what they did to the remaining pump trolleys. To make a functioning Tineke tire takes a long, long time.”