“We Essentialists need to conserve what space we can,” Curator Luna explained, waving with flat hands toward the walls of the more humble space. “And it’s much more efficient to be in the midst of all the great work being done in the caverns, rather than down in the old warehouse.” Luna pointed to the window, where a consistent march of men and women with green-circled eyes proceeded back and forth, into and out of the cavern network.
Flora had only been inside the caverns a handful of times, mostly during her school days. Once she was even gifted a special book from the cavern libraries to keep for her own, a rare honor. She had travelled deep into the interior to pick it out. The stalactite, stalagmite, shield, and drapery formations were all interesting, but with few lanterns to illuminate them, they sparked more fear in her than curiosity. Indeed, the caverns seemed such a dark place to house so many books and precious artifacts, and there were many spots that smelled of some type of rotting food waste.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Curator,” Flora said. “I have a proposition for you that I believe could be of great benefit to our community in Grand Caverns, and to all Essentialists.”
“Yes, I heard. First let me ask about the incident with the retcher, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
“According to the report you provided Chief Darkwind, you looked at a map on this phone before it was destroyed. Was there anything else you saw on the phone? Other features?”
“I’m sorry, Curator, I wasn’t paying attention to all the features. I only remember the mapping function, but there were other functions listed around it, I know that.”
“And there was nothing else in this metal box, other than the phone?”
“Nothing else I could see, Curator.”
“I see,” was all the curator said.
“I hope the incident wasn’t too troublesome. I simply wanted to figure out what was in the Spoke lady’s possession,” Flora said.
“I know your intentions were not malicious, mi hija, but I’m sure you realize every detail is important—every action you took and everything you saw.”
“I understand, Curator, and I assure you my report is complete.”
Luna smiled. It seemed to stretch the ring bridging her nostrils. For a moment Flora wondered if it hurt the curator to smile.
“Okay then, what is your proposal?” Luna asked.
Flora shifted in her chair to avoid it pressing against one of the bruises on her back. “I wish to escort the prisoner, Cecile, back to the Seeville Spokes.”
Luna’s eyebrows arched. “And whatever for?”
“Well, as you saw in my report, I believe she is someone special among the Spokes. She’s from a powerful tribe up north. If we can get her back to the Spokes, she can vouch for us. Or at least we won’t have trouble from the northern Spokes as well as the Seeville ones. And… well, maybe we can set up some kind of a meeting, to see if they are willing to have more open communication.”
Luna seemed to chew through her words in her mind.
“And we might be able to get some of our prisoners back as well,” Flora added a moment later.
Luna was still deep in thought, her hands crossed under the table. Finally she said, “Did you not see what the Spoke people did to us? Were you not at the infirmary on the day of the attack?”
“Actually, yes, I was helping to tend to the wounded.”
“Oh, I see,” Luna replied, and she became contemplative again.
After a moment of silence, Luna said, “you are a brave one, Flora, and you have served our community well. I must admit we have considered this notion of yours already, but you put some good meat on the bone. Who else would go on this mission?”
It wasn’t really for her to say, but Flora named a few good hunters and warriors she knew.
“I see,” said Luna. She stood up and walked over to the small window. Two disciples walked by and she craned her neck to follow their path with her eyes.
“It must be hard for you, Flora. I am the first curator of Grand Caverns to not be from the clans. First came the Union settlers, then the Prefectorate representatives, with their martial arts and immaculate dojos, and now comes a curator that is not of your own. Much of this is still alien to me, so we must be even more alien to you. Even our names are different. Even though we share the virtue of sun, soil, and seed, we do not have a clan sign like you. We are not Water, or Wind, or Wood.
“Even beyond that—even beyond language and customs—I am not like the last curator. I suspect this is why you came to me with this. I suspect the last curator would have dismissed this notion easily, yes?” She moved to the right and hovered over a diorama depicting hundreds of tents arrayed on a plain.
Flora knew she had to tread carefully here. She wanted to answer the curator’s question, but at the same time be sure to not offend her. “Curator Birchwood had… different philosophies than you. He wouldn’t have even asked about the phone—he would have simply dismissed it as an abomination. And I don’t think he would have considered engaging with the Spoke people, honestly. He felt the prisoners were a lost cause.”
“Yes, that sounds like Birchwood,” Luna said, letting the moment hang. Then she pointed to the diorama. “Do you see this? This is a model of the tribe I came from in the Sierras, in the Tucson Union. Can you tell me where the curator’s tent is?”
Flora stood up and maneuvered to the curator’s side to examine the model. The tents were all shapes and sizes, some with colorful feather arrangements, others with animal etchings and paintings on them. “I don’t know, Curator.”
“And the chief’s?”
“They are different, but it’s hard to say. Do you want me to guess?”
“No, Flora Clearwater. You have made my point. In the Sierras, we are all different, but everyone is encouraged to offer opinions, as you have. When you have two big tents and all the rest are small, or worse, have extended hierarchies, like the Spokes do, you lose that. People become fearful of retribution and do not come forward with ideas. So you did the right thing. I thank you for your idea, and I would like to put it forward. It will be subject to approval from Chief Darkwind, of course.”
Flora tried to contain her excitement. “Thank you very much, Curator.”
Luna put her arm around Flora’s shoulder, guiding her even closer to the model. “Now, do you see the different tents? Those with animal paintings indicate skill at hunting. Those with bowls and a pottery wheel indicate a specialization with crafts. This tent here, with the large pot, the herbs, and cuts of meat, and vegetables—it’s clearly a sign the denizens do the cooking.”
“Yes, Curator, an artful depiction,” Flora said, not sure where this was going.
“You see, while everyone should be able to offer ideas, not everyone is the right fit for the execution of those ideas. You don’t ask the hunter to build a vase, just as you don’t ask the mason to prepare the feast. Specialization is the key to building an effective community, especially in one growing as fast as ours.”
Flora nodded.
Luna continued, holding her close. “So I’m sure you see it would be foolish for you to go on such a venture. You are an administrative clerk and an assistant healer.” Luna made a contrived-sounding laugh while Flora tried not to tremble. “We need the right people for the job—warriors, negotiators, trackers, hunters. I’m sure you understand.”
Flora felt her heart sinking. She had told herself this meeting was the right thing to do for the community, but the benefit to Grand Caverns was not her primary motivation. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to get away from Grand Caverns, to get back to Granger. This was the only way she knew how to do it.