Lauriel I
Lauriel hummed to herself as she parked her truck right in the centre of the designated mess ward.
Twisting and pulling out the keys, she opened the door and hopped onto the rocky earth, shutting the door shut behind her. Raising a hand above her eyes, she sighted the sun high above her, golden rays scorching the earth - warm winds brushing through her hair. Sniffing, she decided she was right on time - a few hours before lunch.
This mess ward was still deserted, the wooden bench tables littering the land sitting empty. In a few hours, hundreds of starving miners would swarm into this ward - and it was her job to feed them all. Contracts were everything in Rim Billiton, and she had one of the most important contracts of them all - the responsibility of feeding the hands that built Rim Billiton. Perhaps she was overstating herself, but she couldn't help but feel proud of her work - it was the least she could do for Rim Billiton for taking her family in.
"Still got some time…" Lauriel murmured to herself, pulling up her sleeves, "Let's just make some extra cash."
No need to lock her truck, everyone in Broken Hill knew her anyway - she fed them all, after all. She started walking to the labour board, tying a handkerchief around her head to ward off the scorching heat from above, and to stop her sweat from running into her eyes. In a mine as large as Broken Hill, it was certain there was a pit village nearby. While the miners were housed in dormitories within Broken Hill, the pit village was raised by the board of directors to house auxiliaries like herself.
Contracted servicers for laundry, catering, cleaning - all of them lived in the pit village, but regularly come to Broken Hill to work. They get paid by the hour, after all, unlike the miners. Not only them, but the families of the miners also lived in the pit village. Most mines in the barrenlands had settlements just like theirs.
Lauriel reached the labour board, the prefabricated building's straight white walls covered in a thin layer of yellow sand. Opening the door, she was met with a blast of cold air - this building was one of few that were actually air-conditioned.
"Miss Lauriel!" the receptionist laughed, "Early again?"
"A little more cash is never amiss," she returned, "What chores are up to the take?"
"Hmm," the man flipped through the thick register on the counter, "Ah- that's right! We're burning some old gear, so the laundry station needs some extra hands."
"Sign me up, then."
Behind the receptionist were two boards, each holding dozens of little metal tags hung on hooks. From one he unhooked a metal tag with Lauriel's name on it, and from the other he took the tag that denoted her station for the day. As he placed both on the counter, Lauriel signed her name on the register, as well as wrote down the current time.
As she scooped up the tags, she asked the man out of curiosity, "We are still in the middle of the working month, why are we incinerating gear now?"
He shrugged, "The higher-ups don't tell us anything, nor do the miners. Apparently the word going around is that they're real' out-of-date, but the higher-ups don't want to store them because they might get mixed up with the newer ones."
"Huh, I see. Thanks a bunch."
"I'll see you around, miss."
Lauriel clipped the tags to her apron strap before making her way to the laundry station, which was just the block over. These little chores were a good way for the settlers to stay occupied, staving away the sheer mind-numbing boredom of living in the middle of nowhere. Since Broken Hill was off-limits to them, the labour board was the closest most would get to their sons, fathers, and husbands working in the mines.
Unlike most laundries, the laundry stations at originium mines were built with incinerators for contaminated clothing. In fact, she could already hear the growling rumble of the furnace as she walked down the hallway.
The metal doors of the laundry station were wide open, so she walked through swiftly - taking in the hall she found herself in. It was not her first time in the laundry station - Lauriel figured she has done just about every odd job in Broken Hill - but she still couldn't help but shake her head in light of the vastness of the place. No ordinary person would consider this factory warehouse-like interior to be a cleaners at first glance - especially with those three massive blast furnaces at the end of the hall.
"Lauriel!" a woman with greying hair called for her, waving from a huge washing machine the height of her.
Lauriel recognised her as one of the miner's - George's - mother, and figured that his younger sister must also be around somewhere.
"Mis'ess Sienna!" she waved, "Have you tried that fowlbeast recipe I shared with ya?"
"Oh dear," Sienna waved her off, "Took the words right out of my mouth - I have to say, my little girl enjoyed it so much! I really have to thank you-"
"What!?" another woman cried, "How did you coerce Lauriel to give you her fowlbeast recipe, you old hag!?"
"Coerce!?" Sienna screeched, "What do you take me for, my son!?"
The section of hall that could overhear their exchange burst into a round of giggles and snickers at that - and though Mis'ess Sienna had raised her voice, a good natured smile still danced upon her wrinkled lips.
"Are you gonna cook for us later, Miss Lauriel?" a small girl asked, no older than fifteen - who was separating clothes for washing, "I really want to eat your fowlbeast skewers!"
"That's tomorrow, Evie," Lauriel smiled, "Today Jackson's cooking for you, he makes great stew."
Little Evie wrinkled her nose, "I don't like stew."
"Suck it up, sis'!" a young boy laughed, "We're out in the middle of nowhere, it's not like we have a choice! Tomorrow's not that far anyway."
"Out on mess shift, are ya?" Sienna asked, "The boys love your skewers, you're in for some good money today, girl. Mark my words."
"Not everything's about money, mis'ess," Lauriel laughed, before continuing through the hall.
"Well I'd say-!" she could hear Sienna huff from behind her, "If we had some money, we wouldn't be here!"
Lauriel shook her head in amusement as she walked, glancing at the piles of dirty laundry in wicker baskets and rumbling washing machines. It was very loud, all the machinery, so shouting had become something of a norm in the laundry station, if only so that they could hear one another. She reached the incinerators, quickly finding the shift supervisor - a grumpy, well-meaning old woman named Bonnie.
"Eh, lookin' for work, lass?" Bonnie looked up at her from her stool, "Go find a stool and a basket, and start cleanin' out these suits."
She took a closer look at the clothes in the baskets - and found them quite peculiar. Heavy duty hazmat suits, from the looks of it - stained with soil and dust. However, under all the filth she saw no signs of wear and tear - leading her to think that they were unused and she daresay, quite new. How peculiar indeed, well, it wasn't her place to ask.
"I've never cleaned these before," Lauriel scratched her head, "What am I to do?"
Bonnie grunted, putting down a brush, "Pick them apart, the metal bits, the glass visor, all of that. We only want to incinerate the clothes. Then, wash off all this dirt before handing it to Hamish over there."
The old woman nodded to the man operating the furnaces.
"Remember to be thorough when you wash off the dirt."
"But… aren't we burning them anyway?"
"These suits are contaminated by originium, girl," Bonnie sighed, meeting her eyes before nodding to the furnaces, "What do you think will happen if crude originium meets an open flame like that?"
"Oh," she suddenly felt quite foolish.
"Oh," Bonnie agreed, "We will never be able to fully wash it out, but at least get the bits off. The incinerators can handle some popping, but not an explosion. Now get to work."
Lauriel quickly scooted off to the racks, finding the safety gear. She pulled a dirty smock over herself, as well as covered her hands with a pair of ragged and worn gloves, and her face with a mask. She swiftly found a place - right next to an older woman she recognised as Thompson. Embarrassingly, Lauriel couldn't remember the woman's first name.
She sat down on a stool and pulled out a hazmat suit from the pile, carefully taking out the glass visor and other pins. Then, she picked up the hard brush and started sweeping down the suit systematically, starting from the collar. Soon, she realised that cleaning the suits would be much harder than she first anticipated, for the dirt and stains clung onto the fabric thickly.
"Difficult, eh?" Thompson said, drawing her attention, "Don't linger too long on it. Once you get all the bits off, just dunk it in water."
"Oh, I see," Lauriel took the older lady's advice, submerging the suit into a large pail of water.
As she scrubbed off all the muck, the clear bright yellow of the suits plastic-fabric was revealed, and the water was tinted in brown. However, the more she cleaned the suits, the more she suspected something was wrong.
"Miss Thompson, do you know why we have to burn these?"
"Hm? Don't know," she shrugged, "But those miners are hiding something from us, surely. Did you know, last weekend they didn't allow me to meet my husband? I suspect the same goes for everyone. Done with yours?"
"Ah- yes, sorry."
Lauriel handed Thompson her work, who then took both suits to Hamish. When the older lady returned, she continued speaking.
"This kind of thing - just do your work and get paid, no need to ask about it."
"You're probably right," she admitted.
Lauriel began scrubbing down the next suit, falling into a sort of rhythm, feeling the fabric crease beneath hard brush bristles. After doing the most she could, she dumped the suit in the pail of water, swirling it about and wiping it down - dust and dirt peeling off the plastic-fabric, dissolving in the warm water.
As she grabbed the suit to pull it out, she heard a faint rip - and then a sharp, stinging pain bit into her palm. Lauriel winced and recoiled, jerking her hand out of the bucket furiously - revealing a sharp gash in the palm of her fraying gloves, and red blood dripping down. The smell of iron reached her nose, and Lauriel froze in shock.
Thompson turned her head, drawn by the commission - and grimaced at the sight of her lifted hand.
"Oy, Bonnie!" she called, "The girl needs a wrap!"
Then, the older lady turned back to address her, a sympathetic look on her face.
"You'll be damn lucky if you don't get infected from that, girl," the woman gently pulled Lauriel's towards her for closer inspection, pulling off the gloves, "How did that happen?"
"I-I don't know," Lauriel choked, frozen at the sight of blood, "Something… something sharp?"
Her heart was pounding in her ears as Bonnie approached her with a bandage wrap, kneeling down as she wiped her wound with alcohol. Lauriel blinked back tears as the alcohol stung at the wound, before Bonnie wrapped the bandage around her palm.
"We need to get our shit changed," Thompson mumbled, holding onto her own ragged gloves, "Dangerous stuff."
"Will I be alright?" Lauriel asked.
Bonnie snorted, before pulling up her sleeves - revealing small shards of originium breaking through the skin around her wrist.
"This is Rim Billiton, girl, not the Empire," the old woman patted her head, "Oripathy's nothing new here, and we have some of the most advanced treatments in the world. Let's get you a shot and an infection monitor, you'll be fine."
"...Yeah, okay."
As Lauriel stood up, she took a long breath to calm herself down. That's right, she told herself, Rim Billiton wasn't Victoria, the Infected weren't prosecuted here. Besides, she signed the contract knowing full well she would be working at an originium mine, and she was reassured she wouldn't lose her job.
She'll be fine.
Lauriel tried to be optimistic nonetheless, it wasn't confirmed she was infected yet - there was still a chance she was worrying over nothing. Yes, optimism was good - optimism has carried her this far, carried her family from an ailing Victoria to new opportunities in Rim Billiton. She wasn't a spendthrift, even if she lost her job her family should be fine for some time-
And there she was fearing for the worst again.
As Lauriel mindlessly pulled the mock off over her head, Hamish came over to check on them. He took a glance around - at her bandaged hand, then at the suit still in the bucket. He knelt down at the pail and pulled out the suit, folding it over to reveal a shard of glass.
"You didn't take off the visor, did you girl?" Hamish shook his head.
Lauriel froze, internally screaming at herself. How could she be so stupid!?
"Ah," Bonnie waved them off, "You can't change the past. C'mon girl, let's get you to medical."
"Y-Yeah."
As they made their way towards the door, Lauriel subconsciously placed her injured hand in a pocket, hiding it out of sight. Inwardly, she thanked her stars that the constant rumble of machinery had drowned out the noises of the commotion, and the workers continued unaware of what had happened.
Seemingly noticing her discomfort, Bonnie sighed, her features softening.
"You'll be fine, girl."
"Yeah…" she believed her, "I'll be fine."
Lauriel only wished she could believe herself as well.
"Who ordered two plates of stiltleg pita pockets!?"
"That would be me!"
"Alright!" Lauriel moved like a whirlwind, whipping up new dishes and throwing them onto the counter for the long queue of miners, "Next, one fowlbeast and mushroom pie, fresh outta the oven!"
"That's mine!"
The mess ward was bustling with activity, hundreds of miners queued up at the line of five food trucks, clamouring to fill their empty stomachs with hearty meals. Lauriel never felt more at home than here, dancing around her kitchen with well-practised moves borne of years on the job. Like clockwork, her stoves and grills and ovens beeped and dinged, gushing out food as fast as she filled them up with more meat.
Always more meat, for the workers needed good fuel to continue working.
She successfully kept up appearances, but underneath her exterior she was secretly aching inside. Nary a few hours ago, a large amount of blood had been drawn out of her, leaving her pallid and short of breath. Hidden underneath her dress was an infection monitor secured around her thigh.
Infection monitors were ring-like devices invented by Rim Billiton to track the originium levels of their employees. However, they were expensive to facilitate, for each monitor had to be specially-crafted to fit the wearer. As such, only those who doctors deemed especially necessary to have one were fitted with the devices. Both Lauriel and Bonnie were surprised when the doctor had ordered Lauriel to be fitted with a monitor, which led Lauriel to fear the worse.
However, since it would take time for the doctor to modify a monitor to fit her, for now she had to make do with an ill-fitting standard production monitor which chafed her skin.
"Five cystybeast pancake wraps!"
"That's mine!"
"You gluttonous fucker!"
"Hey, I'm a growing kid - and everyone knows Miss Lauriel's food is the best here!"
"Now now," Lauriel swivelled around, holding up two platters of skewers, "I'm not the only one here feeding you all."
"Twelve fowlbeast and veggie skewers!" she hollered.
"Here, here!"
Suddenly, there was a knocking sound from the rear door of her truck, and Lauriel slipped another batch of cystybeast patties before rushing over to the door. Opening it and leaning out, she found another caterer - Florence, if she recalled rightly - looking up at her emploringly.
"Miss Lauriel," Florence whispered, "Do you have any cystybeast meat to spare!? I've run out!"
"Oh- just hold on a minute!"
Lauriel rushed back inside, scooping up the patties and wrapping them up in pancakes before throwing them onto a platter and placing it on the counter.
"Four cystybeast pancake wraps!"
"That's ours!"
Then, she dug into her ice-box and pulled out a sack of lean cystybeast meat. She hauled the sack over to the backdoor, where she found Florence still waiting for her with wide eyes.
"S-So much!?"
"It's extra," Lauriel smiled kindly, handing the sack to her.
"Thank… Thank you greatly!" Florence cried, "I'll pay you back, promise!"
"No need," she laughed, "It's good that everyone's enjoying your meat buns, we all know they're the best 'round 'ere."
Florence bowed slightly before rushing off back to her own truck, ready to continue feeding the still long line of miners wanting to eat her wasteland delicacies. As for herself, she returned just in time for the oven to spit out a freshly baked pie, which she loaded onto a plate and threw onto the counter, hollering the order.
The hour passed in a flurry, and soon enough all the miners and facility workers were feasting away at their designated bench tables. Lauriel leaned on the counter of her truck, a satisfied smile upon her lips. Every now and then, a man would come ask for seconds or thirds, and she would gladly serve without hesitation. But for the most of the time, it was relaxing watching her hard work pay itself off in the form of hearty joy.
She liked to imagine all of her peers in their own trucks felt the same.
Lauriel felt her palm itch, and mindlessly tugged the baking mittens off and started scratching the bandages. When a group of miners started approaching her truck with clean platters, Lauriel hastily hid her hand behind the counter, and greeted them with a smile.
"Returning your plates?"
"Yep, thank you for the food!
"Alright, just hand it here!"
Lauriel swiftly put on some grilling gloves to hide her injury, before reaching down to take to the metal plates and placing them in the sink soon after. As the minutes passed by, more and more people began returning their clean plates to the trucks. By the time she had finished washing the dishes, the mess ward was just as empty as it was this morning.
Just after noon, the high sun scorched the land as the caterers began packing up their things. Despite the unfortunate happenings of the day, Lauriel was still quite pleased, her cooking was just as well, and not to mention she had made quite the killing - just as Sienna guessed she would.
She glanced to the side, her eyes catching the calendar she had hung on the wall. The boxes under every month were crossed out, marking the days she had worked. Lauriel crossed out the day's date with a small smile, humming to herself. She worked seven days a week, five days for the miners and two days for the pit village. It was hard work to be sure, but it made her feel accomplished nonetheless.
Hopping out of the truck, she began closing up shop - pushing the counter up and in, before locking the latches. The sound of revving engines caught her attention, and she turned around to see her peers driving off back to the pit village - and noticed Florence leaning out of the window, waving at her.
Lauriel waved back, watching Florence sit back down on her driver's seat and spinning the wheel, making a turnaround and speeding out of the complex.
She climbed up into her own truck's driver's seat, turning the key and revving up the engine. As she placed her hands on the steering wheel, Lauriel realised she was still wearing her silicone grilling gloves. Cursing herself, she peeled them off the reveal the bandages on her right hand.
Lightly, she placed her hands on the steering wheel again, feeling a light sting on her palm but disregarding it. She glanced at the rearview mirror as she backed up and made a turnaround, re-facing the entrance.
The day was over for her, time to return home and prepare for tomorrow's meals.
