V
Ana huffed in exhaustion; she'd spent the whole day helping people move into the residential block.
She'd also had to solve burning problems around the allocation of living space, because everyone, of course, wanted one of the limited number of apartments.
She'd solved that by allocating a certain part of the living space to the guilds and housing all the remaining populace in several enormous mass dormitories.
Those she'd organized into a men's and a women's section with sanitary facilities between them.
For now that worked, and the population settled in with interest.
Her attention was drawn to a group of people at the end of the hallway; she approached them.
"Hello, people, how can I help you?" she asked in a neutral voice of welcome.
They looked at each other. Then a heavyset girl with a thick layer of makeup on her face spoke up:
"Hi, we're all connected here by kitchen work and waiting tables as a profession. We don't have a guild, but every place needs cooks and people skilled in kitchen work, as well as the work around it."
The people's faces confirmed the girl's words, and Ana was glad they'd organized themselves that way. This kind of thinking was commendable. She then smiled at the heavier girl, who seemed to be the leader, and asked her:
"And now you want to know where the kitchen and pantry are?"
"That's right," the girl answered. "By the way, I'm Mirela, and you're, I believe, Ana, the girl who's in charge of this shelter?" she asked.
Ana laughed. "I am Ana, but that I'm in charge is one big lie. Where did you hear that?"
"Up in the warehouses. When we offered to help, that blonde girl, what's her name…" Mirela paused, thinking.
"Irena," Ana jumped in.
"Yes, Irena." Mirela's face brightened and she relaxed. "She told us to find you. We heard you were somewhere on this floor." The girl looked around. "God, this is such a big place."
"Yes, it's quite spacious," Ana agreed, but at the same time thought: For now.
"Well, that brings us to our earlier question. Where's the kitchen?" Mirela asked.
"Right down in the shopping section. Come on, follow me." Ana turned and began descending the stairs, followed by the group of people. Her gaze caught on the papers they carried in their hands.
"What's that?" she asked Mirela curiously. The latter glanced at the papers, then answered:
"Mostly recipes we put together, and lists of ingredients. We tried to keep it as simple as possible," Mirela explained, then asked: "A shopping mall?"
"Oh, there's some designated zone for exchanging tools or materials, we call it the shopping mall." Ana laughed charmingly. "Who knows, maybe we'll really turn it into a shopping mall, and you'll work in the food corner."
"Oh yes, definitely," Mirela accepted the idea. "I frequented that most anyway, up in the outside world. That's where I had my first days of work, where I learned the skill of making sandwiches."
"So how did you manage to organize yourselves like this?" Ana asked the girl as they walked down the hallway.
"Most of us know each other from courses, and a few we met at cafés. Since most of us hang out anyway, when it was announced that everything up there had gone to hell, we realized people have to eat something and have somewhere to socialize. Now here we are, at your disposal."
"I see. Very shrewd," she praised Mirela, and the praise obviously sat well with her. "Here, we're here."
Ana stopped beside a metal railing that led into a spacious room filled with long metal tables and accompanying benches.
The room had no markings or any posters or signs.
Just a long counter with compartments for food and openings into which trays were placed — the trays were stacked in tall towers on the right side of the counter.
Two trash bins, and that was it. Everything in white tiles and gleaming metal somehow felt sterile, like a hospital.
It was hard to imagine people eating at those tables. Mirela puffed up.
"Ugh, it's like we're in a morgue, a lot will need changing here."
She passed through the rows of tables and approached the stacked trays on the side.
She took one in her hands and inspected it with satisfaction.
"It has compartments for food. That's good."
She looked at Ana. "They're easier to clean and maintain." She handed her one to inspect.
Ana took the tray and noticed it had compartments where food could be placed.
One large one for the main course and three on the side, probably for sides or whatever.
She remembered she'd seen something like this somewhere.
Yes! In one of the documentaries filmed in some prison.
That was how inmates received food while serving their time.
She frowned. Well, they too were, in a way, prisoners.
None of them would ever see the blue of the sky again.
In that situation even those inmates had more than they did.
They could at least, for an hour, enjoy the sun, the blue of the sky, or the wind on their faces.
Her face would never again feel the warmth of the sun or the freshness of rain.
Her gaze unconsciously ended on the concrete ceiling, and she suddenly felt the whole weight of the mountain.
She felt the tons of concrete and stone pressing on her soul, binding her hands, stealing her breath.
Her whole body clenched into a spasm of tensed muscles.
And she had not the slightest control of her limbs.
She felt herself leaning on the metal table in panic while the panic attack threatened to send her crashing to the sterile floor of the dining hall.
All of it reminded her of the rape and the helplessness she'd felt then.
Sweat broke out on her forehead as her hands gripped the metal surface of the table.
Mirela grew alarmed when she saw Ana's scowling face.
"Trust me, this is a very practical way to hand out portions. And it's very easy to clean."
"What?" Ana returned to reality and realized Mirela had interpreted her panic as dissatisfaction with the tray.
"Oh no, something crossed my mind, completely unrelated."
She smiled and hid the sorrow somewhere deep in her soul.
Now was not the time to grieve for what no longer existed, but she knew she wouldn't be able to dodge the demons of the past for long.
Then she handed the tray back to Mirela.
"Oh yeah, a great way this shelter is designed. Exactly what we need."
Mirela was mollified and took the offered tray, which, after another brief inspection, she set on the pile with the others. Then she turned around and sized up the dining hall with her gaze. She ran a hand over the gleaming metal of one table while it showed on her face that she was thinking deeply.
"It's too sterile here, I said already it reminds me of a morgue." She turned to her team, who had spread out across the dining hall, chatting. "The first thing we have to do is make this place warmer. Maybe paint the walls?"
Ana cast her gaze around the room and suddenly added:
"Yes, good idea, something like a soft green up to head height, and blue above?" she asked.
Mirela turned around, imagining, and then understood. "You mean like green grass and the blue of the sky? Yes! That's it!" she almost exclaimed in excitement.
"That's exactly what I had in mind, since we're underground," Ana agreed.
"Oh yeah! To create the illusion of open space. Exactly what people need in a place where they'll be three times a day."
Mirela spoke excitedly as she spun between the tables.
She looked like a little girl and her enthusiasm was contagious.
It was completely clear to Ana why they'd chosen her as leader.
She smiled, and laughter was badly needed in the current situation.
Laughter and optimism. They were counting on a great deal, and their whole survival hung on the thin thread of managing to grow food.
If Nika failed in her plan, the illusion of a meadow under a blue sky would be of no use.
It could very easily happen that their artificial sun would, for years, illuminate only the dried skeletons of the shelter's residents, who'd died of hunger.
But for now Ana smiled, because Mirela had taken the hand of a confused young man and, to the sounds of an inaudible waltz, was dancing with him between the tables.
At the door, people stopped, drawn by the voices and laughter, but when they didn't grasp the situation, they simply went on about their business, thinking how strange people are.
Finally, Mirela stopped dancing and gave the young man a friendly kiss on the cheek.
He blushed, and Mirela headed toward the wide kitchen doors.
"It's time to see what our kitchen has to offer," she declared breathlessly.
They all entered the gleam of the kitchen's tiles and metal.
On the right side, up to the food-serving window, was a long row of gleaming metal containers into which food is placed.
Opposite stood a long table fastened with metal rivets to the white wall.
Above the table sat gleaming shelves, now empty, but you could easily imagine spices and kitchen supplies on them.
The wall with shelves tactically hid the kitchen space behind it, and two wide passages at each end led to it.
Mirela entered the kitchen and headed through the wide space, between a dozen enormous ovens, toward the wide metal doors at the far end of the kitchen.
Ana stopped in the passage. The ovens were enormous in themselves, and on several of them stood huge pots in which you could imagine stews simmering.
Behind the ovens were tables and utensils for mixing dough, as well as two clearly butcher's tables with hollowed channels leading to the metal grilles of a wide sewage opening.
The kitchen was enormous. Some thirty meters crammed with things and appliances Ana didn't even recognize.
A girl stopped beside Ana and noticed she was confused by the whole space. She pointed at a few metal boxes.
"That's for mixing pasta, and next to it is the pasta cutter for making noodles."
She pointed. Ana nodded gratefully. The girl continued: "Then you have mixers for making cakes and sauces, and next to them stand dough rollers. Admittedly, it's all so old-fashioned, but a roller is a roller." The girl smiled.
"And what's that?" Ana asked, pointing at a long metal device with two openings on each side.
"That's a steam washer." The girl approached the machine and leaned on the metal belt that led into the machine's jaws.
"Trays are placed on this side and come out clean on the other. Inside are big steam jets that clean the food residue off the trays. That's how it was cleaned once, before they invented fast dishwashers."
"Really interesting," Ana was impressed. "How do you know all that so well?" she asked the girl.
"History of the development of cooking technology. Mandatory classes in cooking school. Everyone has to go through it, but I was honestly interested in the subject," she explained.
"By the way, I'm Ana." Ana held out her hand.
"Tonka, nice to meet you." The girl had a strong grip and calluses on her palm from work.
"So, do you all really know each other?" Ana asked, and sat on one side of the washing machine.
"Oh yeah, most of us went to the same school, and the waitresses and a couple of the guys are the crew from our internship. So we party together too." The girl smiled.
"How is it you chose Mirela of all people to represent you?" Ana was curious.
"Because with her everything's the loudest — she talks the loudest, laughs the loudest, knows cooking the best, and because she's somehow the most of everything," she said with enthusiasm.
"And kisses the best?" Ana caught on.
Tonka blushed like a little girl while Ana laughed merrily. Ana patted the girl on the shoulder and headed toward the wide metal doors behind which Mirela had vanished. As she approached, Mirela opened the door and solemnly announced:
"The fridge is spacious and working. It can hold enough food." She looked at Ana. "When can I expect the first supplies?" She pointed at Ana's radio.
"We can find out right away." Ana took up the radio and pressed the call button. "Hello, Irena. Come in."
A little static, then Irena's voice came through. She seemed busy. "Go ahead."
"We're in the process of setting up the kitchen, so I'm wondering if you have any news about the most basic supplies?"
A short silence while everyone awaited the answer. Finally the radio came on again.
"So far we've catalogued about a fifth of the supplies. Send people to us with a list."
"There, you heard it." Ana put the radio away. "I think it's best you head toward the warehouses."
The people looked at Mirela as if awaiting her words.
She understood and blushed. "And now what? Do I have to order you around?"
Then she laughed, breaking the awkwardness.
"Oh yes, I'm the head chef now, so I have to give orders. Oh, the discipline."
With a wave of her hand she shooed the people out of the kitchen. Ana remarked once they were alone.
"I think you have a good team."
"Oh yeah, they're a great crew and we've known each other a long time. They just need to be put to work." Mirela looked at Ana seriously. "But how will we manage in the future? Pasta and sauces won't keep people alive for long."
Ana sighed. "Honestly, I have no idea. But keep that to yourself. We have a team working on it. Something with the farms." She leaned against the counter with the food bins.
Mirela muttered something under her breath, checked the empty bins lying in their places, and asked again: "All right, vegetables can be grown in 40 to 60 days. But where are we with protein? Or we all become vegetarians."
She pointed at her belly. "I'm a protein lover. And it's essential for people, too."
"We should ask Irena when she finishes the inventory. There should be some cans up there, while for a fresh source of protein, unless you become a cannibal, I have no ideas whatsoever."
"Hmm… That'll be a problem." Mirela was thinking. Then she brightened. "I hope that team of ours has ideas for how to solve the meat problem."
"We all hope so," Ana confirmed and headed out of the kitchen, leaving Mirela to deal with the empty containers.
She walked on down the hallway, watching the people. Busy and content. Yes, she'd have to keep the population busy and well-fed to avoid scuffles and unrest from idleness. There was so much to do, and she'd need the help of friends and all the goodwill she could beg for.