A Distant Society — Part 2
Sometimes ‘right’ is relative
“My fellow Clovertons!” Ian announced. As their mining colony was ironically named after a fictional verdant hamlet (which contrasted with the reality of their rust colored world) this greeting usually got at least a few smiles. But not today. The crowd was filled with folded arms and furrowed brows. They had all gathered in the cavernous warehouse at the settlement’s southern edge. In loosened EVA suits with helmets cradled beneath an arm, they crowded around three large shipping crates arranged side by side against a wall. Atop this makeshift stage stood Tamara and Ian, attempting to address the audience.
“Fellow colonists,” Ian tried again. “Exciting news! Tamara has successfully dismantled the black market that has plagued our humble village!”
Angry murmurs ensued.
“What gives you the right!” someone called out.
“No one asked ya!” shouted another. Tamara showed her palms in an attempt to calm the growing unrest.
“Things have returned to normal,” she explained. “Goods and services will now be distributed equally. As they should be!”
“According to who?”
Someone threw a septic hose coupler at her. Tamara leaned away so that it missed and bounced against the wall before spinning to a rest next to her foot. The part appeared very used.
A laugh erupted from somewhere, then people dismissively waved her off and turned to leave. They complained loudly to each other as they donned their spheric helmets and headed into the airlock.
Ian leaned close to Tamara. “They seem less than pleased,” he observed. She didn’t answer as she tried to process what just happened.
After Ian unsuccessfully tried to kill Tamara they formed a truce. Ian could not be replaced by The Company without an investigation that they both might regret. So they came to an arrangement: she would be the actual Administrator with him serving as figurehead. That way Ian could continue breathing while Tamara weeded out the corruption that she vehemently opposed. But she observed that moods inexplicably soured as theft and price gouging decreased.
The warehouse was soon empty, save the two. They continued standing atop the crates, their audience now a vacant Mars-crete floor. “It makes no sense,” she said.
“Sure it does,” he said in his casual, overly-confident way. “People want conflict. They need it. It’s human nature. This peace and harmony you’ve unleashed… they don’t want any part of it.”
“Because a society without crime isn’t normal?”
“Now you get it!” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “People need what’s familiar, especially on this god-forsaken rock that’s a quarter billion klicks from home. Corruption might not be ‘right’, but it’s right for this place. Instead, what you’ve given them is…”
“Unnatural,” she concluded, staring off into the distance. A green light on the airlock at the far wall blinked on and off. Outside was a hellscape that no one should call home.
She turned to him and asked, “Did you know when I started? That I’d fail?”
“I had a hunch, but was curious about how it’d play out.”
Tamara wearily sat down, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the crate. The heels of her boots knocked hollowly against a plastic side. Inside the container were air scrubber parts that were prime for a mysterious disappearance, then reappearance at a significant markup. That’s just how our economy works, she thought, then snorted with a humorless laugh.
After a long reflective moment, she sighed in defeat and asked, “So you want your old job back?”
He pushed away from the wall, looked down with a toothy Cheshire grin, and said, “What’s in it for me?”
Thanks to Zane Dickens for the Microcosm prompt Character versus Society. Part one can be found here.
