"Good afternoon, sir."
Gideon nodded as he crossed the main room of the Comm Building, temporarily forgetting about the guard he had stationed there. The Watcher arched his back, stiff from a long day's watch. A flask sat on the ground by his dirty boot.
Gideon looked from the guard to the strong, secure door behind him, leading to the annex. The door was thick enough that it would hold against the prisoner's pounding fists, even if the thief got out of his cell.
"How have things been in here?" Gideon asked, tired from a long day of overseeing the crop disbursement.
"The prisoner yelled for a while, but he's quiet now," the guard said in a low voice. "Horatio and Saurab are in their rooms, resting."
"Why don't you take a break?" Gideon said.
"Thank you, sir." The Watcher gratefully left his post. "I'll fill my flask and be back."
Gideon watched the man cross the room and close the door behind him. He turned his attention to the annex door. The hallway on the other side was silent.
Still, he could never be too careful.
After a moment of quiet, he fished out his key, inserted it in the lock, and swung open the heavy door, revealing the offshoot hallway on the other side. Up and down the long, rectangular corridor, rows of separated rooms lined the walls, cordoned off by thick metal bars. Long, black marks scarred the walls of each of those rooms, where shelves had once hung. As he stepped inside, the smell of rodent scat and sweat clung to his nose.
Gideon peered through the gloom until he found the man The Watchers had captured that afternoon. Huddled by the wall in the second cell, the man looked up with a gaunt face and pleading eyes. Slowly, he rose to his feet and clung to the round, sturdy bars. Gideon appraised him in silence.
When Gideon's eyes became too thick to bear, the man said, "Please. I have a family to feed. I did not mean to steal."
Gideon said nothing. The man was sorry that he was caught. But if he had made it away, that sullen expression would've been an expression of triumph.
"Please…" the man said again.
Watching the captive man, Gideon pictured a slew of others just like him, walking the streets, probably wondering whether they might have made it away. He didn't need anyone getting ideas.
Some of the duller colonists might've welcomed the extra portions of vegetables and roots, but the more intelligent ones—like this man—realized that extra crops meant cuts were coming. It was those people about whom Gideon worried.
Gideon knew how quickly the seeds of discontent could blossom.
One day, food might grow scarce enough that more than a manageable few would consider breaking the rules. How long would it take people to realize their neighbors were better at rationing their meat, or that their crying, starved child might benefit from taking someone else's share? How long would it take for someone to realize they could use their knife to get food in town, instead of food in the desert? Gideon and his men brought a civility that kept them a few steps ahead of chaos, but not much more. The colony's hunger could turn into a starvation that would kill them all.
He, his Heads, and his Watchers numbered only two hundred. His Watchers were decisive, tough men, taught to execute orders and keep people obedient. But they wouldn't stand up against an enormous, unruly mob.
In the aftermath of every storm, it was important that Gideon pay attention to every wandering eye, every uttered word. If his father had taught him anything, it was that weakness led to disorder.
Disorder led to chaos.
He couldn't tolerate either.
"If you behave, I'll let you out in a few days, as I have ordered. Keep talking, and you will be cast out of Red Rock," Gideon threatened, before walking back through the door, leaving the prisoner and the annex behind.