Chapter 29 - Taking a Breath
MATEO TRINIDAD - CHILE
Mateo huddled in the back of an old school bus along with two dozen of his neighbors. The group was fleeing, as many were, toward the mountains. He did not know the route at this point, as it had taken him far into the countryside beyond any area he was familiar with. They passed farmland for most of their journey, though the fields seemed deserted and empty of workers.
Mateo was in his mid-forties, tan and with thinning, tightly-cut black hair. He had, until recently, worked at a small office, though with the encroaching enemy attacks, he and the rest of his coworkers had all abandoned their posts. Although few of them planned their escapes together, they all made very similar plans: they were going to flee into the mountains and cross into Brazil. It would be a long and difficult trek involving a great deal of travel by foot, which Mateo did not look forward to, but at least the first part of the journey could be made by road. He was lucky enough to have a friend of a friend be able to provide him a seat on the bus, which was no small favor.
Joining him on the bus was an old woman by the name of Javiera, who was more akin to a wrinkled knot of a tree than a person. She moved incredibly slowly, and remained wrapped under a shawl, huddled and easy to overlook. How she managed to acquire a seat on the bus, or how she was planning to escape the country without any help was a mystery to Mateo, though he did not ask. He, along with everyone else aboard the bus, maintained an air of silence, as there was nothing that needed saying.
The bus traveled for most of the day, and eventually came to a stop at a small town at the foothills of the mountains that Mateo did not recognize. What he did recognize - and was surprised to see - was just how many people in the town seemed to be armed. The realization came to him slowly, but it became clear that not everyone was comfortable leaving the country, and more than a few had decided to instead fight for it. It was something Mateo applauded, even though he knew it was a futile gesture. Everyone knew the aliens were crushing the army, and weren't slowing down. He wondered how soon he would have to leave Brazil - and where he would go when that happened. The thought made him nervous, and so he suppressed it, instead smiling at the militia members as they guarded the bus. It was not a warm and encouraging smile, but rather one of a grim and mutually-understood resignation.
Disembarking the bus, the group carried their bags with them. Some had fought for their right to carry suitcases or larger collections of luggage with them, while most simply took their valuables in a backpack. Some - the particularly unfortunate - carried nothing at all. However, as they all stepped off the bus and looked ahead to the mountains in front of them, many began to reconsider what they had with them. Nearly anyone with a suitcase immediately tried to sell its contents to passengers and locals alike, while those who had nothing eagerly traded for something as simple as a change of clothes.
Mateo carried only a briefcase with him. It had originally carried his packed lunch and many of the important items he needed at work, but now it carried his passport, a handful of cash, the lunch he had yet to eat, and a spare set of socks. He knew it would not be sufficient for the journey ahead, but he did not have the time to pack more. Next to him, Javiera exited the bus with aching sluggishness, moving forward step by step with the aid of a gnarled wooden cane. She looked up at the mountains ahead, and wordlessly continued her forward march.
"Hey - Abuela! You sure you can climb that?" asked a bystander, to whom she slowly craned her head towards. Her brown eyes, deeply recessed into her face, seemed completely flat and devoid of any emotion. Her lips drew back and revealed many missing teeth as she smiled, and, at a snail's pace, nodded her head up then down. Turning to follow the street - a dirt road that quickly shrank into a footpath as it continued, before turning into little more than a goat path - she took a determined step forward.
Mateo watched her with morbid curiosity. He didn't know her, beyond knowing she lived in the same neighborhood as him, and they had never talked. He knew that it would be the right thing for him to help her, but he could see something in her: an unspoken message broadcasting from her soul. She did not want or need anyone's help. And so Mateo clutched his briefcase, regretted his choice not to bring better shoes, and began walking forward.
The group was not guided, per se, as it was neither organized nor formal. If someone fell behind, they were left behind. But there was an experienced survivalist at the head of the group who carried a compass and a map, and had supposedly made the route more than once before the outbreak of the war - though he declined to mention under what circumstances he had been guiding people across the border. Mateo had always lived his life relatively straight-and-narrow, so it was a new experience to walk alongside people that lived on a different side of the law than him. Stranger still that they were saving his life.
Every once in a while, as they walked the trail, they would find a small hovel or farm, either dilapidated and abandoned, or occasionally with a wizened old face peering out the windows as they passed. According to the group's leader, there was another village further along, of about twenty people, where they could perhaps barter for food and water, and rest for the night. Considering he was the most experienced in making the route, and he was unwilling to traverse it at night, Mateo felt it would be wise to stay for the night as well, even if it meant sleeping outdoors under the cover of his suit jacket.
Mateo lingered near the rear of the group. He didn't have the right shoes or stamina for the sort of hike he was on, having discarded his tie and unbuttoned his sweat-soaked collar long ago, slinging his jacket over his shoulder to preserve it for colder weather - but more than that, he wanted to keep an eye on Javiera. He felt an immense amount of concern for her, as he watched her struggle her way along the uphill terrain, relying heavily on her cane.
It was coming near to the evening when Mateo saw the twinkle of a light ahead: the settlement that the leader had described. It was extremely small, and was made of five buildings in a rough circle around a central well. He could see several members of the group sitting by the well, while one or two pushed forward into the jungle beyond. The village was the end of the road - beyond was an expanse of thick jungle with no path to guide. Mateo, whose legs were starting to ache, slumped against a rusted tuktuk with no wheels. Clicking open his briefcase, he pulled the wrapped remains of his lunch from it. An apple, a granola bar, a water bottle, and a ham, cheese, and avocado sandwich. It was the same thing he had eaten every day for the past seven years, but something about it felt different. As he bit into the sandwich, he realized that it was likely the fact that he may never eat it again. Even if he survived the war, there was no telling what sort of food he would be able to acquire in Brazil.
His empty stomach rumbled as he sank his teeth into the sandwich, but he nonetheless was slow and deliberate. After eating half of it, he re-wrapped the remaining half and set it back in his case. He would likely need it tomorrow. Instead, he unwrapped the granola bar, and finished it quickly. As he idly chewed, a loud noise turned his attention towards the jungle. A single, sharp gunshot had rung out, and for a moment he felt panic - were they under attack? Had the enemy found them?
But when no more gunfire was heard for some time, he began to settle back down. If the enemy was here, he would have heard screams or the sounds of strange weaponry or more gunshots. Instead, his suspicions were affirmed when he saw the group's leader emerge from the jungle, blood dripping down his shirt, with a small and freshly-killed guanaco draped around his shoulders. Those that walked with him seemed eager and excited, and one of the locals immediately brought out a table and a knife for him. Mateo watched with a morbid fascination as the man began to skin the creature. The pelt went to the woman who provided the table, along with a portion of the meat, which Mateo took as likely some sort of repayment in exchange for allowing the group to spend the night. The offal was tossed into a nearby pigpen, as the animals eagerly set about on the guts and innards. Meanwhile, some of the group members built a large fire, and the guanaco's meat was cubed and shoved onto spikes before being hung to dangle over the fire.
Mateo watched the shish-kebabs sizzle before his eye caught Javiera making her way into the center of the town. Finally catching up with the group, she groaned in pain as she sat by the well. He remained seated, enjoying a moment of peace, before his mind turned to the food he carried. It wasn't much, but by comparison, from what he could see with a quick inspection, it was more than she had.
Mateo grappled with his sense of right and wrong for a moment. He knew that the best thing he could do would be to give it to her, since she would need it. But so would he. The road ahead would not be easy, and the times uncertain, and he could not afford to be giving away food that he was unable to spare. Logic dictated he should keep the food; but Mateo was not without a heart. The old woman needed to eat just as badly as he did.
He stood, brushing off his pants, and made his way over to Javiera, who stared out into nothingness while he approached. Arriving in front of her, the two looked at each other for a moment before he fished the apple from his case.
"Señora," he said, gesturing for her to take it. She smiled at him with her remaining teeth, and he suddenly wished he had softer food to give. Reaching out, she pushed his hand and the apple away.
"No, boy. You keep it. You will need it."
"So will you," he said.
"I am old. I already know I may not see the sunrise tomorrow. I have made my peace with it. You should keep the food."
Mateo frowned.
"Please, Señora. Take it. Or at least half, if you will not take it all. You have nothing else."
Gears churned in her mind, and after a lifetime of thought, she nodded slowly.
"Okay. Thank you…" she probed for his name.
"Mateo."
"Mateo," she parroted back, taking the apple and tucking it into her pocket. The two smiled, and Mateo left her, heading back to his position by the tuktuk. It was not a bed, but it was the closest thing he would be able to find tonight, and so he leaned against the metal and covered himself with his suit jacket. It felt like the moment his eyes shut, he began to drift off, exhausted as he was by the day's journey.
Mateo's eyes shot open as he heard a scream, and gunfire. But unlike before, this gunfire was repeated. It was not hunting, but a firefight.
Jolting upright, Mateo grabbed his briefcase and looked around in a panic. It was still pitch black beyond the borders of the village, but he could see flickers of light from between the trees. Flashlights and licks of flame. The gunfire continued, with distant muzzle flashes.
"Run!" cried a voice, as the sleeping refugees quickly roused and began to scramble for their belongings. Others simply abandoned what they had and sprinted into the treeline, trying to make distance with the enemy.
"East! Keep going east for as long as the pass lets you!" came the voice of the group's leader, who was clicking a light onto his headband. Around him, several lit up torches from the remains of the cooking fire. "Don't go without a light!" he shouted, his warnings falling on deaf ears.
Mateo ran towards them, and was lucky enough that one of the refugees saw him without a light, tossing him a torch.
"Thank you!" Mateo called, but the man was already gone before he could pass along the message. He could see the crowd vanishing into the jungle, and so, with trepidation and sweat on his brow, he rushed into the woods with them.
The torchlight cast long and strange shadows that left Mateo confused as to whether what he was seeing was true or an illusion. He could hear noises - the sounds of people running in terror - but they came from all directions at once. Sometimes, a burst of lightning or fire would rocket by from one side, sending him diving to the ground out of fear. A near-constant series of explosions went off, and trees were uprooted, spraying dirt and chunks of tree bark through the air. Mateo ran as fast as his legs could carry him, praying that he was going the right way.
It felt as if he had run for hours - though in truth it had only been a few minutes - when he finally slowed his pace. He was hopelessly lost, by this point, with only a vague hope that he was still heading in the right direction, and he was without any sort of companion or guide. Completely alone, the darkness of the jungle began to close in around him.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of a crunch from ahead - a branch breaking, perhaps? Or a foot crushing a twig? Mateo froze in fear, squinting into the dark, but the torch provided no insight. The crunching came rhythmically - it was the sound of footsteps. And from the sound of it, slow ones at that. Mateo cautiously crept forward, petrified at the notion that he would round a tree and come face to face with some sort of gigantic alien creature.
Instead, he paused in his tracks to see Javiera, wheezing and gasping for breath, pushing forward through the trees. She looked around calmly despite the terror, and Mateo paused at the sight.
"Abuela?" he asked, quietly. The old woman turned slowly to look for the source of the noise, and he emerged, torch in hand. "Are you alright?"
The old woman sighed.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. You keep going."
Mateo hurried to meet her, and as he approached, he gained a better look at her. She was sweating and clearly exhausted.
"Are you sure?" he asked, concerned. She must have pushed herself to the limit to have run so far so fast in the pitch darkness.
"I'm fine, I just…" she said, slowly lowering herself towards a large rock protruding from the ground, "...need to take a break. Catch my breath. You go on ahead."
Mateo looked ahead into the darkness, and back towards the direction of the noise; the gunfire and the screaming.
"They're still close, Abuela. You need to keep moving."
The old woman chuckled to herself, as if she had heard a joke only she understood.
"I'm sure I do," she said, calmly. "I'll just be a minute. You really need to get going though."
Mateo was torn. He did not want to leave an old woman behind, likely to her death - but he did not want to die either. Yet just as goodness won him over before, it did so again now.
"I don't know which way to go," he said, moving to the boulder and sitting beside her.
"What are you doing?" she asked, confused.
"Taking a breath. Like you."
The old woman frowned.
"If they catch us, they'll kill us, won't they." she asked, strangely calm.
"Most likely," replied Mateo. He kicked his feet at the dirt, idly.
The two fell silent, and listened to the sound of chaos in the distance.
"Why try to run if you give up now?" Mateo asked, breaking the quiet.
"I'm old, boy. I'm not stupid."
Mateo shrugged.
"My torch won't last much longer."
"No. It won't."
"It'll get dark then."
"Yes. It will."
"Okay."
Mateo and Javiera waited through the night for death to find them, but it never did. The sounds of violence soon faded, and the smell of smoke lingering in the air was the only indication there had ever been a conflict in the first place.
The sun crept over the edge of the trees, illuminating the jungle with beams of light filtering through the treetops and sending dancing yellow dots across Javiera's face. She blinked herself out of her stupor and slowly stood up, leaning on her cane. Mateo stood as well, stretching. The two had remained silent throughout the night.
As the sun rose, Javiera pulled the apple from the folds of her shawl, which was cut into two pieces.
"Breakfast," she said. Mateo frowned.
"I gave it to you," he said.
"You told me to take half. The other half is yours."
She gestured towards him with the fruit, and he reluctantly took it, as the two watched the sunrise and ate their meal. Finishing his portion and throwing away the core, Mateo waited for Javiera to finish her portion.
"Come on Abuela. East is this way," Mateo said as she finished her last bite, pointing towards the direction of the sunrise.
"Are you sure you won't go on ahead?" she asked, and Mateo shook his head negative.
"No. We're almost there. Come, I'll help you."
Grabbing her arm to support her, the two set out into the jungle once more. Mateo did not know the way to Brazil - but a part of him knew that he would make it there alive. They both would.
KABEI - METRU NUVA
Building an underground city was, at the best of times, a massive challenge. At any given moment, Kabei was surrounded by a dozen or more engineers, architects, and geologists who were working together to plot out the mines beneath their feet. Deep below the surface, blasting charges cleared massive swathes of terrain, while Kahgarak worked around the clock teleporting the rubble into the Field of Shadows. What remained was taken to the concrete plant. The massive machine initially rested aboveground, churning out large stone sheets that were used to reinforce the access tunnel. However, not long after, the first lifting platform was finished. The platform was the size of four shipping containers placed side-to-side, and once it was finished being installed, Kabei began lowering the construction equipment down into the caves piece by piece.
Deep under the surface, the concrete plant joined the ranks of a much larger foundry (that had to be specially constructed, unlike the concrete mill, and required a series of ventilating smokestacks to be installed, leading to the surface), a glass-blowing plant, and a basic thermal power facility that utilized a naturally-formed heat vent in the ground. This began to form the center of the city, with a series of bunkhouses being made so that workers could cut the extensive travel time out of their daily routine. This development was particularly exciting to Kabei, as it meant that he had achieved - in its most basic form - the intention of his project: to create an underground living space.
However, there were yet more concerns. While the geothermal power was theoretically more than capable of sustaining the bulk of the city's needs, the plant itself would need to be continually upgraded in order to efficiently utilize the geothermal energy. It was an issue that Kabei was continually running into: the pressing and urgent needs often outweighed future design spaces. While he would have preferred to have built the power plant in its final, complete state, it would have taken too long, and the need for a local power source was too great. This same issue was found throughout most of the city, with many critical structures being built like stopgaps rather than final products.
Luckily, mining throughout so much of the ground came with its own intrinsic value. It seemed like every day Kabei was striking deposits of valuable minerals, mainly coal and iron - or what appeared to be this universe's equivalent. Deposits of limestone and gravel, along with metals like copper and tin - albeit never in sufficiently large amounts to warrant thorough investigation - were also present. Still, the little bits trickling in were helpful in all sorts of ways, from setting up lighting to serving as structural foundation.
The actual form of the caves was taking a very rectangular shape, divided into a series of massive rooms, each with evenly-spaced columns holding up the ceiling. It was an extremely organized space that reminded Kabei moreso of a warehouse than a true city, and somewhat depressed him to look at. Its brutalist aesthetic did not strike him as a nice place to live - and it cost him very little to add an architectural flair to the space, so he intentionally played with the geometry of the floor. There were very few straight and leveled paths throughout the city - instead taking sharp turns and going up and down levels, until there was no one true floor, but merely a series of raised and lowered platforms running throughout the area.
This decision initially came to Kabei through the instructions of Vect, who proposed that a less-organized floor pattern would help slow attempted escapes by slaves. He argued that it allowed a single guard to occupy the highest platform in a street and be able to oversee several of the surrounding streets without the costly construction of watchtowers.
As such, when wandering through the "streets" - still lacking the buildings and pavement to properly qualify them as such - one could very easily forget the nature of the space they were in, were it not for the darkness and the ceiling above. It reminded Kabei of Ga-Metru, with its crisscrossing array of canals and bridges, though without the water. He planned on including an expansive canal system, as he theorized running water would help move the air, which had a natural tendency to become still and stagnant when underground. However, at this stage of construction, actively-flowing canals were more of a hindrance than they were worth.
However, as the streets lead further and further from the city, they flattened out into large plateaus as Kabei made room for farmland. It was an issue that he was still not sure as to how he should solve, and thus one that he had been forced to ask for Krika's help on.
Kabei bowed before Krika as the white-armored Makuta stepped onto the lifting platform with him. Vect sat in one corner wordlessly, shadowing Kabei as he had done ever since the cave-in several weeks prior. The Layamat was well aware that Kabei was attempting to present a peaceful and cooperative front to the Primitives, but he was not willing to let that front be a risk to his safety.
"My lord," said Kabei, starting to grow more confident around the Makuta. There was a strange sense of understanding brewing between the two - Kabei had made many difficult requests of Krika for supplies and personnel, yet the Makuta had always unquestioningly obliged. Kabei hoped that Krika shared some level of vision towards the city he was building, and that it was not simply the Makuta ignoring the matter entirely.
"Rise," said Krika, approaching him. The platform began to descend, as the two traveled deeper into the earth together. "I grow somewhat tired of your summons, Kabei. In truth, I do not think I would have answered them were it not for my curiosity. How does your work go?"
Kabei swallowed nervously.
"Very well, my lord. The workers are…never easy. But I accounted for unforeseen delays when planning the construction timeline, and we're within its upper limit. We've begun establishing the city center, and can house staff around the clock belowground. We've begun paving the first streets and buttoning up the maintenance tunnels underneath - the wiring is in place for the streetlights. I expect you'll be very pleased with the first block, even as a proof of concept."
Kabei watched for Krika's reaction very carefully, hoping to see a smile or glimmer of acknowledgement. Instead, the Makuta remained motionless, expecting the Matoran to continue.
"We've been building the streets outwards from the elevator, though obviously there will be one or two more lifts added as we get further outwards, along with the underwater harbor - I don't want to bottleneck our supplies with a single entrance."
"Nor should you," replied Krika. Kabei beamed at Krika's agreement.
"Yes, sir. I've some plans for some more district-based layouts, but I want to use the natural advantage of the underground geometry and give the space a more integrated atmosphere. I think Metru Nui being so starkly split into six regions was a mistake, and that it has a tendency to brew political islands with each Metru. Obviously, it won't be easy combining, say, an industrial sector with a living space due to noise and air pollution, but I think it will be healthier for the city if the Matoran of each element don't live separately from each other."
"A noble aspiration," replied Krika, as the lift finally reached the ground. The doors opened, and the two beings stepped out onto the streets. The area was cavernous and dark, illuminated only by streetlamps. The two could look up and see only darkness above, while ahead, the massive support pillars receded into the distance.
"My my, you have been busy," said Krika calmly.
"As I said, sir. Things have been going well. This is section one, since it's the first chamber we finished excavating, but in each direction we have sections two through five, six and seven, eight to ten, and twelve A, B, and C over there. It's those three that I wanted to talk to you about specifically."
"And what's the issue with them?" Krika asked.
"Well…Vect, if you could get us a crawler?" Kabei asked, as Vect nodded. Near the elevator, a small garage sat, filled with personal crawlers, large enough to seat a handful of matoran or workers. The small carts were usually used to move personnel out to greater distances away, or to move stone back towards the Kahgarak or the concrete mill. As Vect steered one towards them, Kabei continued. "As you know, sir, I'm an architect and an engineer. Not a botanist. I know that you all have been using fishing to supply food for the Brotherhood, but in the long run, a stable and home-grown food source is ideal. I know there's a few crop fields on Target Main, and so I've cleared a great deal of space for crop production. The problem is, I don't rightly know what sort of plants can thrive in an underground environment."
"I see. You have no Bo-Matoran on your staff?"
"Only one. She's been helpful so far, but even she's at a bit of a loss. She was talking about potentially using mushrooms, but we don't have any whose nutritional value outweighs their -"
"So you require more Bo-Matoran then?"
"Well, that would help - actually, sir, if I might ask a small favor…"
Krika nodded, and Kabei continued.
"There was a Bo-Toa on Target Main, by the name of Ashazi? She was very helpful to me in the initial construction of the housing there. Having one elementally-aligned to plantlife would be very useful in this field…no pun intended, sir."
Krika nodded.
"If she can be found, she will be brought here. Was that what you wanted?"
"Thank you, sir, but not entirely. In truth sir, I was hoping you could craft me some new plants. I know that, as a Makuta, you have a specialty for that sort of thing."
Kabei watched Krika, hoping for a nod. Instead, the Makuta's eyes seemed to glaze over, as he sat in silence. It was as if the Makuta was lost in thought. After a painful moment, the Makuta looked upwards ever so slightly, and let out a soft chuckle.
"Yes. I do. Though I was never particularly skilled with creating life - would it not be better to ask Chirox -"
Krika's eyes suddenly widened.
"No, on second thought, definitely not Chirox. You're hoping to eat the plants, not be eaten by them. Very well. I can craft you three types of crops that should be able to thrive in low-light conditions. You will need to work carefully with Onu-Toa or Skakdi, though, to ensure that the soil is rich enough to support them. However, it is good that you brought this to my attention so early, as I have a special request with regards to plants."
"Yes, sir?" Kabei asked, nervously anticipating yet another impossible challenge for him to face.
"You'll need to add a fourth field. I will work with you to ensure it is designed to Chirox's specifications. Additionally, you will have to include in your immediate constructions a special refinery to his design specifications. This field, and the refinery, will be dedicated to the production of fuel sources. Chirox claims that he has created a process by which a local Primitive crop can be refined into a viable energy source. I cannot claim to understand the chemistry behind it, but Icarax has approved of it and insists that we begin its development as soon as possible."
"That…should be possible," said Kabei, thinking. "If the designs are passed on to me, I can put that toward the top of the list."
"Good."
The two boarded the crawler in silence, and began their journey towards the outside edge of the caves. It felt odd for Kabei to be riding so casually alongside one of the most powerful beings in the universe. But then again, nothing had felt normal ever since the Great Journey.
As they passed by several long bunkhouses, Krika murmured idly.
"Housing for the workers?"
"Yes, sir," replied Kabei, quickly. "They're capable of housing a hundred Toa-sized beings each, and there are three per row, seven rows distributed throughout the city so far, which leaves only a minimal amount of beings left on the surface. As I said earlier, we can keep beings below ground around the clock now. Though I…I try to let them outside every once in a while."
Krika cocked a brow.
"Outside?"
Kabei was quick to explain his reasoning.
"Well, the worker housing isn't very good, sir, I mean I'm working very fast so I didn't have time to make it very spacious or anything, and it isn't very private, or insulated. It's kind of just stone walls and roof and floor, which isn't very comfortable - I mean they have beds and everything, we made some out of wood and plant materials we harvested from above ground, so they're not completely bare rooms, but still I think seeing the sunlight is good for them."
Krika remained silent, listening to Kabei ramble, as the Matoran sped up his words.
"They actually mentioned something called "vitamin D", which I didn't understand, but apparently they get some level of energy from the natural light, so I try to give them access to it. It seems to improve their morale as well, giving them the little reprieves…"
"Reprieves?" said Krika, and Kabei's heart immediately sank.
"Uh - yes, sir. A sort of…day off. Kind of."
Krika's eyes closed in what Kabei knew to be disappointment.
"You are giving your slaves days off."
"It's - it's sort of - well, I started doing a niceness thing -"
"Relax. I'm not going to kill you, Kabei. What did I tell you when we last spoke?"
Kabei thought back to their conversation on the boat. When he initially had approached the Makuta asking for help with deciding how to treat the workers, Krika had warned him that he would never win them over, that holding them against their will and forcing them to work would inevitably destroy any possibility of cooperative coexistence.
"You told me I was free to try new methods of positive reinforcement," said Kabei.
"I told you you were free to test your assumptions at your own risk, which I meant. However, giving the slaves time off lowers their overall productivity, which makes this project take longer. As Icarax has charged me with completing this task, your decision reflects poorly on me. You are testing your assumptions at my risk now, and that is a dangerous game to play."
"It's…with all due respect sir, it actually doesn't reduce their productivity very much."
Krika stared at Kabei, confused.
"Well, I noticed that the workers tend to work at their most efficient directly after their evening meal, so I theorized that a half-day of work followed by a half-day of rest would increase their efficiency in the following day. Instead, it minorly increased it over the subsequent three days, but it also drastically reduced escape attempts and noncompliance with orders."
Krika seemed surprised to hear such a thing. Admittedly, the findings had surprised Kabei too when he first discovered them, but the numbers did not lie, and had been consistent across the past several weeks.
"I'm impressed," said Krika quietly. "However, I still think Icarax would not take kindly to hearing this information."
The two remained quiet for a moment, with Kabei praying internally that Krika was willing to come to a compromise.
"What is your current schedule for this project?" asked Krika, finally.
"The city can have its primary districts done in under two years, sir. Progress will be faster the further we get in the process - once the underwater docks are built and we can transport in materials by sea more easily, and once we've finished all of the factories that we need to build and can produce everything on-site, it's just a matter of building a lot of housing."
"Two years…to completion?"
"To full completion, sir. To the point of including independent shops, luxury goods, and civil beauty projects like planters and canals. With additional room for future expansions."
"And how soon to minimum completion? To the state where we can bring civilian population from Target Main over?"
"A month, I would say," said Kabei, though he was not fully confident in the claim. "It would be tight, but I can reprioritize some of the crewmembers on expansion duty to work on housing."
As they spoke, the crawler arrived at a stop. Before the two was a massive cavern, with large, flat panels dug into the ground, and a criss-crossing grid of roads scattered throughout. Lightstone clusters in the ceiling provided a small amount of illumination. Kabei had been working with some crystalsmiths to grow them naturally so that the area could be consistently lit, allowing for better crop cycles and saving on electricity requirements for lighting.
"Make it so," said Krika, observing the space. The two stood wordlessly, observing the distant, empty fields - fields that would one day be populated by vast blooms of food, Kabei hoped.
AARON TRENCH - METRU NUVA
Aaron found it very uncomfortable to sleep now that he had been equipped with a collar.
Weeks ago, when the first collars were handed out, it did not go well. While he had never seen it himself, he knew that most who were given the devices enabling them to communicate with the enemy were turned upon by other slaves. They would be beaten half to death in sequestered areas for consorting with the enemy, and there was a general suspicion that only snitches and traitors were granted the privilege of the communication devices.
This notion was soon dispelled, however, as not only were more collars granted to the population, but they were also prioritized towards any teams involved in the beatings. Now forced into the unfortunate predicament their victims had previously been in, the violence quickly faded. Instead, it was replaced with a general sense of paranoia and discomfort - which to Aaron was far better than nearly being murdered.
It was, of course, just his rotten luck that he had received one of the collars - it was a simple series of metal links that were locked at the rear, and was unable to be removed without the usage of the tool that had fastened it in place. During the procedure, the grunt that applied it swore it was not a lock or key, but merely a mechanical fastener. Aaron did not care either way, as the rest of the day, what few people he knew by sight did not speak to him.
However, where one door closed, another opened, as he was suddenly privy to a wealth of conversations from the enemy. It seemed that they had little concern that he was able to understand their communications, as they spoke unfiltered, and now in a language that he could understand. There were still a great many words that seemed to lack any sort of translation - things like "Rhotuka" or "Hordika", which were spoken about in concerned and hushed whispers, or words such as "Kanohi", which despite being able to pick up on its meaning through context clues, didn't make any sense to him. There were additionally a number of things that the aliens had their own vocabulary for, specifically weights and measurements, though they all sounded so similar he struggled to distinguish them.
What he appreciated most, however, was finally being able to put together some sense of the structure of the enemy. While he had made many theories, analogous as they were to the Covenant, it felt refreshing to have so many of his guesses validated or rejected.
He passed whatever information he could on to whoever was listening each night at dinner, though few ever were. He told them about the beings he called grunts - Matoran - and how they were like civilians. The soldiers were called Layamat, while the squat and ugly slave drivers were something called Augafi. Apparently some of them wielded powers of a magical variety that he could not explain, but he had learned that this ability was seemingly restricted to different species - and this was reflected in their appearance. Many of the Matoran bore different colors not just as a fashion statement or a mark of rank, as he had once thought, but rather as an affiliation to a different group of some sort. He had heard calls for "Onu" and "Po" Matoran, before, and seen the brown and black ones responding respectively. These Onu- and Po-Matoran responded to and typically oversaw the excavations underground, which in addition to their earthy tones in comparison to the bright reds, blues, and greens that he saw in other Matoran, made him wonder if perhaps the title of "Onu" or "Po" had something to do with their vocation.
The curiosities of the aliens' cultures and classifications enamored Aaron greatly, but ultimately did little for him, as despite all of his knowledge, there wasn't much that could be made of it. None of the other humans were willing to hear him out, and he didn't dare talk to the aliens. Even the ones that seemed to be conscripted laborers like himself gave him an unnerving feeling, and he had no impulse to be anywhere near them. And to add to the issue, he didn't think the alien laborers would be impressed by his knowledge, since they would likely already be well aware of their own society's structure.
Aaron was nonetheless meticulous in cataloging the information he discovered. With what he had been told about the war - and based on the fact that there were new slaves arriving every day - he knew that humanity was still fighting against the creatures. As such, they would need to know everything he knew in order to give themselves a better chance at defeating the enemy. He tried to take stock of the enemy's weaponry, listen to conversations about their food and their diets, and think about what sort of things could have military applications. He was no tactician, but he had seen enough movies to know that surely the enemy had some sort of exploitable weakness.
Alas, no such weakness was ever revealed to him despite his eavesdropping. His endeavor was not, however, entirely without end.
On a day like any other, Aaron and the rest of the Yellow team were making the hike to the cave entrance. It was, apparently, a ritual that would soon come to a close, as they would be granted underground housing soon enough, as a number of other teams had already received. Aaron relished the outside air as much as he could, even though he was grateful that it would mean less walking. Of course, he suspected that the team would just be expected to work longer hours to compensate.
On this day, however, he could see the businesswoman that he had met on his first day. She stood to the outside of the group, along with a handful of others - a middle aged man with dirty blonde hair and a perpetual five-o'-clock shadow, a younger black woman who Aaron hadn't seen before, and what appeared to be a father-son duo, or perhaps a grandfather-son duo, as one was a great deal older than the other. The two stood close together, however, and were visibly related.
As they passed by a small pond, he watched them grab a handful of reeds from the water's edge, breaking them into roughly foot-long sections and stuffing them down their shirts. Aaron watched with confusion, wondering just what they were planning. The group looked around, apparently scanning for weaknesses, before the businesswoman locked eyes with him. She glared, and Aaron suddenly felt compelled to keep his gaze on his feet, and move forward in silence. As he did so, he continued to puzzle over exactly what was going on. It came to him a moment later - whatever they were doing, they were trying to do it without the guards seeing, which meant it had to be something the aliens would object to. Whatever it was, he wanted in.
Aaron was awoken that night by the feeling of something sharp against his neck, and a rag being forced across his mouth. His eyes shot open and he looked around in terror, thrashing wildly, but hands on his arms and legs locked him in place.
"Alright, do it!" came a whispered shriek.
"No, not here, the guards will -"
"He's already awake!"
Aaron's eyes adjusted, and he came to recognize several familiar faces standing above him. The business woman and her group from earlier surrounded him, holding him in place. The man with the blonde hair held a crude shiv, made of a broken piece of pickaxe blade stuck into a wood handle.
"Well, what do you suggest?" he asked.
"I don't know, it was your idea," replied the woman.
Aaron struggled against his captors. He would never have expected that he was going to die at the hands of his own kind - not while surrounded by bloodthirsty alien invaders. The man turned his gaze down towards Aaron, who froze. The two stared in silence for a moment.
"What did you see?" he asked, calmly and quietly. Aaron quivered in fear as the gag was drawn away from his mouth. "If you scream, I cut your throat," he said.
"Nothing," replied Aaron, instantly.
"Liar," sneered the black woman.
"What? I saw…you pick some fucking reeds, is all. Is that what this is about?"
"What do you know?" asked the old man.
"Nothing!" repeated Aaron, desperate.
"Kill him anyway, he'll rat us out," said the youngest.
"Not necessarily - he can be reasonable, can't he?" asked the blonde man rhetorically. Aaron nodded eagerly.
"I'm reasonable, I'm fucking reasonable. I don't know what you're planning, so I can't tell anyone anything."
The black woman pointed at the collar around his neck.
"You think we're stupid? He's seen our faces, he's gonna tell the guards that we're up to something."
"The - the guards?" Aaron asked, confused. "You think I'm some sort of snitch?"
"We've seen you talk to them before," said the businesswoman, accusingly.
"I'm not - I'm curious about them. I'm trying to find a weakness or something."
"Weakness?" asked the old man.
"Yeah, so we can kill them! Like maybe they melt if they touch water -"
"We've seen them touch water…"
"Something like that!" shot back Aaron, praying that they would listen. "Listen, I'm not a snitch, and I'm not gonna do anything to work against you; they killed my -"
Aaron's voice broke, as he suddenly remembered the sight of the yacht sinking, and Lisa's body on the deck. The smell of blood - the taste of metal.
He swallowed hard, and blinked away tears.
"They killed my cousin and they put me in chains. I hate them as much as you do."
The group went silent.
"What was your cousin's name?" asked the blonde man, after a moment.
"Lisa," replied Aaron, trying not to think about her.
The grip on his limbs loosened, and the man drew the knife away from him. The group stood in an uneasy armistice with Aaron, who crawled as far back against the wall as he could, and hugged his legs to his chest in a fetal position.
"You don't talk about this, okay? Not to anybody, ever," said the man, still holding the knife. Aaron nodded. The group - despite some conflicted feelings on the matter, began to return to their cots. As they did so, Aaron raised his voice very slightly, just enough for them to hear.
"You're planning to escape, aren't you?"
The silence was a telling answer.
"I want in. I want out of here."
"Who says we want you coming with us?" replied the youngest.
"I could help. I can drive a boat."
"An alien boat? You know how to work the controls?"
Aaron thought for a moment, grimacing and thumbing the collar around his neck, before he realized what he was doing, and the perfection of the situation dawned on him.
"Well…I can speak their language."