Thanks to chelle for the beta. All mistakes are my own. No money made, no harm intended.
Dragon's Hoard
Grabbing the open case of power bars off his desk, Rodney dumped the whole thing out onto the floor, creating a glittering pile around him. Squatting next to the hoard, Rodney carefully placed each gold-and-brown brick on top of another, first in rows of two, then four, their edges overlapping to make a solid wall, a fortress of food.
Twenty. He had twenty left. Twenty here in the room with him, his personal talismans against hunger and the stupidity that came from having his blood sugar crash. He flushed, thinking of his inability to answer simple questions or think rationally whenever his body betrayed him. He couldn't afford to have that happen again.
He stared at his hoard, deciding if he wanted to eat another bar yet. Oh, he knew there were other cases of power bars, so it shouldn't matter if he took one from his personal stash. He picked the top one off the stack, intending to open it, then set it back on the stack, unopened. Sleep. He needed sleep more than food at the moment. He should get some rest. Tomorrow would be a bad day.
Setting his laptop within easy reach of the bed should inspiration strike, Rodney stripped down to t-shirt and boxers and tumbled into bed. His uniform lay scattered around and across the floor, while the stack of golden power bars flickered in the laptop's faint light.
When he woke an hour later, he glanced at the pile, reassuring himself that it was still there, then slept once again.
Two hours later, he woke with a start, sweat pouring off of him. He rolled onto the floor and sat tailor style in his boxers and t-shirt, sorting and re-stacking the bars.
He didn't put the last on the stack, though. He ate that one, unfolding the wrapper completely and laying it on the top of the pile he'd built, like the flag on a soldier's coffin.
Nineteen now. A very limited supply.
Sweating, Rodney ran a hand over his face, then shoved the pile with it, scattering bars across the floor, under the bed, and into his abandoned uniform clothing. It was all fucked. None of this would work. They had limited food and water, and power was a joke. Rationing was imminent; what they hell would he do when -- for the good of the group -- they wanted to take his power bars away?
He took a deep breath and let it slowly out. They had enough food for the moment, and they could trade for more in the future or grow their own versions of whatever earth varieties could survive here. It would be fine, he told himself. It was okay.
No, it wasn't. Rodney stood up and started pacing the room, his fingers occasionally tapping his teeth as he thought. What if he was allergic to the new foods? What if he went into anaphylactic shock? He was allergic to citrus, but what if some other world's food acted just like lemons to him, even if it looked like wheat or corn. What if there was nothing that he could eat that didn't originate on earth?
What if he had to live the rest of his life on rice, lettuce and soybeans because those were the only earth foods they could raise? And what if he grew to like wheatgrass and tofu shakes?
He stopped and stared at his pile of gold. No matter how many cases there were, it wasn't enough. He started pacing again, his mind dancing from possibility to possibility, each one more horrific than the last. He sat down and grabbed his laptop, awakening it, and immediately sketched out what could be done to combat each issue he foresaw.
Ten minutes later, Rodney pulled the blanket off of the bed and threw it over his shoulders; it was getting cold now. He typed in "check heating and hydroponics system," the feel of the keyboard beneath his hands comfortable and soothing. Each new task list and thought slew one of the horrors he'd created, and the image drifted out of his head.
At last, he closed the laptop with a snap. They'd only need tofu for the first year.
He set down the laptop, picked up the bars and stacked them into a grid, throwing the empty wrapper away.