Thirteen ThirteenKenny woke up with a sore arm. He glanced at it, noticing the bloodied rag tied around it. “What the—”
“I cut out your chip,” said Dana, “while you slept.”
“You drugged me.”
“So you wouldn’t feel the pain. Would you rather I hadn’t?”
“You had no right.”
“Perhaps not, but I won’t risk your father being able to use it to track you and me.”
“But—how am I to get back home?”
Dana eyed her friend. “If you really wish to return, you know where the tracks are. Just follow them and eventually you will reenter Dystopia.”
“By myself?”
“You really are helpless,” said Dana. She finished securing the bags to her horse. “Kenny, I don’t have time to argue with you. You can either find your own way back home, or quit complaining and come with us. The choice is yours.”
Dana mounted Poboy and galloped off.
The trading caravan entered town by early evening. People gathered around like they did in the previous place. Many waited impatiently to buy and sell goods, but Malcolm never liked doing business at night.
“Please, all of you,” he addressed the crowd, “we are tired from our long journey. We will conduct business in the morning.”
A few moans escaped their mouths as disappointment enveloped them. Slowly, they dispersed, vowing to return in the morning.
“We should get something to eat,” said Sampson.
He led Dana and Kenny to Betsy’s diner. Malcolm and his crew joined them.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the girl who ran out on me to wander in the wilderness,” greeted Betsy in her usual crass manner.
“Evening, Betsy,” said Sampson. “We are all famished and would like your special.”
“I don’t offer anything for free,” said Betsy.
Sampson laughed. “Put it on my tab.”
“I don’t do tabs.”
“You do for me. Have I ever not paid you?”
Betsy huffed and went back into the kitchen.
“She likes to huff and puff, but she really is soft at heart,” said Sampson.
“What is this place?” asked Kenny.
“Home,” said Dana. “My new home.”
“What do you mean? You’re not coming back to Dystopia?”
“Why would I, Kenny? I can’t go back there. You know that.”
“You wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t made that speech during your honor ceremony.”
“Honor ceremony?” Dana eyed her friend. “That ceremony was not made to honor me. It was staged to turn me into a hero before your father and Colonel Fernau had me killed.”
“My father would never—”
“He lied about my parents. Do you think they would actually tell the truth about me? And while we’re at it, why were you on the railroad?”
“My father wanted me to oversee the railroad repairs.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Dana. “Usually, they send a low ranking officer, not the son of the First Councilman.”
“What are you implying?” asked Kenny.
“It’s just strange,” said Dana.
Betsy plopped two plates on the table, each containing steak, eggs, buttered toast, and an apple. Kenny stared at his plate. “These are all contraband items,” he said.
“Like that ever stopped you from eating them before,” said Dana digging into her food.
“Well, yes, but—” Kenny’s voice trailed off.
“I suggest you eat,” said Dana.
“But for the good of our nation—”
“Kenny, that nonsense means nothing here,” said Dana. “You have food before you now. You best eat it because you might not have anything to eat tomorrow.”
Kenny glared at Dana. He didn’t like being scolded. No one ever told him what to do, except for his father. Even many officers refused to challenge him because of his father’s station.
“Well, you two,” said Sampson joining them, “I hope you like your supper. Betsy always makes the best steak.”
Sampson noticed that Kenny hadn’t touched his food. “Well, eat up, son, you’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kenny.
“Well, if you’re going to stay here, you need to find a way to earn a living. Got any skills?”
Kenny looked at his plate.
“He can start here,” said Dana.
“Work here?” said Kenny. “In this dump?”
“It’s where I started,” said Dana. “Sorry, Kenny, but your father isn’t here to get you a cushy job.”
Sampson watched their exchange with interest. “Well, you can start working in the stables. Mr. Callors always needs help keeping it clean. It’s a good place to start until you work your way up.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kenny.
“I started working here,” said Dana. “Then, when I figured out that I wanted to join the traders, I saved my money and bought a horse and supplies.”
“Without a license?” Kenny was aghast that Dana would do such a thing.
“Why would she need a license?” asked Sampson.
“In Dystopia, we need a permit to do anything. Including to blow our nose,” mumbled Dana.
“That’s not true,” said Kenny, sharply.
“You’re right,” replied Dana. “If you are from a privileged family, or your parents write the rules, then you can do anything without suffering the consequences.
“Getting your hands dirty isn’t going to kill you, Kenny. If you’re frugal, you can save enough money to start your own business.”
“Is that your plan?” asked Kenny.
“Yes,” replied Dana. “I plan to travel with the traders until I learn the area and how to acquire things people need. Then I will bring them back here and sell them.”
“That’s a good plan,” said Sampson. “However, the cold months are coming and Malcolm and his crew always go south for the winter. Some of the storms get pretty bad.”
“Yes, Malcolm told me that,” said Dana. “However, Minny said that she could use help canning the harvested fruit from your fields. I figured if we had enough, we’d sell the extras, and Betsy agreed to let me work here.”
“You two ladies have been conspiring against me,” joked Sampson.
“So, anyone can start a shop here?” said Kenny.
“If they have a mind to and the willingness to work at it,” replied Sampson.
“But what if they fail?”
“That is always a risk.”
“But, shouldn’t there be measures in place to ensure the fair opportunity for every person to succeed?” asked Kenny.
“We have one,” said Sampson, “It’s the people. If you have something they want to buy, you’ll succeed. If you don’t, you close up shop.
“Now, I suggest you finish eating. It’s getting late. Dana, I’ll see you back at the farm. And there’s a room for you as well, Kenny, if you wish.”
Sampson left them while Kenny continued to pick at his greasy plate.