Chapter 11
The communal meeting progressed swimmingly, with the majority in favour of all of Sam’s proposals.
When he’d explained the scientific concepts behind a hydroelectric generator, they seemed riveted by his breadth of knowledge, and Sam began to see more and more of the people here start to look at him with eyes full of childlike wonder.
“Now,” he said, after exhausting the rest of his plans, “I have one last proposal, and it’s going to seem a little extreme…”
Danny lit a new cigarette. “Oh, this ought to be good,” he muttered.
“Well, the thing is…” Sam rubbed the back of his neck as he chose his words. “I have reason to believe this place might be the target of a police raid for drugs in the near future.”
Danny blew a smoke ring. “Say what?”
“And that’s why I think we need to clear this place of all substances before then.”
“Before when?” Danny asked, eyes narrowed.
“I—uh, I don’t know exactly,” he said, then met Danny’s gaze with a smirk. “Timekeeping’s a shackle of capitalist control.”
“Are you a narc, Al?” Danny said, tobacco smoke wisping around his face as he studied the other man.
“Danny!” Marsha snapped. “How could you ask that? I don’t wanna give them up, but if Al says we’re gonna be busted, it would be a bummer if we ignored the warning and it came to pass. We’ll all end up in the slammer! And the only thing we’ll be trippin’ on in there is the pigs.”
“I’m not a narc, alright?” Sam said, raising his hands defensively. “I’m trying to help this place become sustainable and a safe place to live. And we can’t do that if everyone’s been carted off in a paddy wagon, now can we?”
Danny frowned. “Listen man, we don’t want this place to change so much that it becomes unrecognisable. And our culture is built on personal choice for what we put in our bodies. You can’t just ask us to ditch the dope like that.”
Sam tilted his head. “Well, this is a democracy, isn’t it?” He turned to the crowd. “Shall we take a vote?”
Danny stepped forward. “Okay. But remember, comrades: use your logic. There’s no proof that Al here actually knows the future, you dig?”
“No, but…” Sam shrugged, “if there’s even a chance I’m right, do you want to risk it? I don’t want to see this place collapse due to something preventable, do you?”
A murmur swept through the crowd.
“Alright, people. Split!” Danny announced, and the room once again divided, this time much more even than before.
After a moment, only one person remained in the centre, still undecided. It was Alicia, the girl with the flower painted on her cheek.
Danny counted the numbers on each side, before throwing his spent cigarette to the floor and stepping on it.
Sam hoped that would be the last time he’d smoke indoors, as that had been one of his proposals for improving the air quality of the dome.
“Looks like we’ve got a tie,” he said, looking pointedly at the pigtailed girl. “Alicia babe, you’re the deciding vote.”
Alicia bit her lip, looking from Danny to Sam and back. “Can… can I have time to think it over?”
“No sweat, darlin’. We’ll reconvene after we get back from the march tomorrow. You make sure to have your answer, alright?”
“March?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. We’re going into town for an anti-war march. You gonna come along, or have you decided that supporting war is gonna be our new official position here?”
Sam’s face brightened as he realised he’d have a chance to gather some supplies to put his ideas into practice.
“Sure, I can come. Can you spare some—uh—‘scratch,’ so I can pick up some components while we’re there?”
Danny extended his hands. “The bread pool is for everyone, Al. Just speak with Jasper, he’s our treasurer.” He pointed to a man Sam recognised as the older man that had called him an ‘Ascended Master’ the night prior.
“Thanks,” Sam said, and moved to approach the man. Danny held out a hand, halting him in his tracks.
“Listen spaceman, before you do that, might I have a word in private?” he said quietly.
“Sure,” Sam said, and allowed Danny to lead him by the arm to an exit at the back of the stage, leading to the breezy twilight.
As the door closed behind them, Danny’s neutral expression dropped into a frown.
“What’s your game, Richie?” he hissed.
“Uh…” Sam said, caught off-guard by the hostility. “Game? What game?”
“Oh, gimme a damn break, Richie. What is this act? How the hell did you convince Marsha to go along with this charade of yours?” He jabbed a finger into Sam’s chest. “Why are you doing this?”
Sam blinked a few times as he processed the barrage of accusations. “Uh. Look, I guarantee you I haven’t intentionally lied to you even once,” he hedged. “I’m not playing games with you. Honest. My ideas are all genuine attempts to improve this place.”
“You realise you’re gonna turn this place into an uptight, authoritarian shithole, don’t you? Who told you you could come in and screw with everything I’ve built here? Who do you think you are?”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Danny,” Sam said, moving back to create a safer distance between himself and the fuming man. “But you said it yourself… it’s majority rule, and these people have voted to implement my ideas.”
“Not all of them,” Danny grumbled, “and I intend to keep it that way. Listen up, Al. You can pretend to be some kind of psychic alien, and Lord knows some of these idiots will believe it with all their gullible little hearts, but you and I both know that’s a great big load of hooey, don’t we?”
Sam looked sincerely into Danny’s eyes. “Whether you think I’m from outer space or not… I’m just doing what I think is the right thing. I promise.”
Danny closed in on Sam, drawing his face in, mere inches from his. “Watch your damn step, spaceman. ’Cause I don’t intend to hand this place over to you so easily.”
Danny turned on his heel and stormed back into the dome, leaving Sam open-mouthed. He had been sure he and Danny had been engaged in a good-natured tête-à-tête until now. Had he said something wrong?
Well, he thought, he’d just have to win him over. He had a pretty good track record of talking things out, if he remembered correctly. Everyone here respected Danny. If he could get through to him, then the rest would be a cakewalk.
He was sure all of this was just a misunderstanding.
* * *
By the time the roast was done cooking, Sam leaned into the master bedroom to check up on Brenda, only to find her slumped in an awkward position on the bed, cradling a wine bottle in her arms like a baby. It was a different one than he’d last seen her with, and he wondered where she was keeping them, as he hadn’t seen her creeping around since she’d blown up at him earlier.
“Brenda?” As much as he didn’t want to, he figured he’d better make sure she was okay.
Brenda responded to his call with a groan.
Sam moved to the bedside, and gently tugged on the bottle in an attempt to remove it from her grip, but she tightened her hold on it.
“No,” she mumbled, eyes half opening. “Don’t take it.”
“I don’t even think there’s anything left in here,” he argued. “It’s just an empty bottle.” He tried pulling it again, causing Brenda to feebly slap at his hand.
“I dun care,” Brenda slurred. “Get lost, Bobby.”
Frowning, Sam let go of the bottle, and set about repositioning Brenda’s slack body so that she’d be safer to sleep. She resisted at first, but as he rolled her on her side, she gave up on that plan and let him tilt her head back.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” he whispered in her ear. “I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.”
I wonder if I sounded as insincere as it felt to say that.
“If you wake up hungry later, the roast will be in the fridge. Okay?”
“Mmhmm,” Brenda replied, her eyes still firmly shut.
“You’re not even gonna remember I said this,” he muttered as he headed back out of the room. Shaking his head, he realised he was going to have another sleepless night keeping an eye on her.
Something has to give here. I’m gonna lose it.