Chapter 114: Diogo

"Alive."
Her shoulders slump in relief. She's been intensely worried about her sister, but helpless to do much about it. She's been careful not to bring it up often, knowing I had to bring the city under order before I could go searching for her kin. The wait has taken a toll.
"I invited her into the city, but she's refusing to leave the refugee encampment. She's hunkered down in Old Tucson with some of her people." I try to keep the worst of it from her, but Taran is intelligent and intuitive.
"And the Primitives?"
I don't want to lie to Taran, but I also don't want to upset my very pregnant wife when she's so close to giving birth. I stand next to her and run my hand down her back, pressing my fingers into the spot just above her ass where she seems to get the sorest.
"They're attacking the encampment," I tell her bluntly. "A group of the refugees are holding a line on the front." I don't tell her that Skye is also fighting on the front.
She tilts her head back to look at me. Her eyes are reflecting alarm, but her face set in weary resignation. She's not stupid, she has to know what's going on outside the walls of our city. Primitives will take any opportunity to attack. A gathering of unprotected humans is a prime opportunity.
"How many people are out there?" Her voice wavers, as though she doesn't want to know the answer, but needs to ask.
I hesitate. Again, she's going to hate the answer.
"We figure around 10,000."
She flinches and repeats in a shaky murmur, "10,000 lives."
Her grey eyes search mine, pain reflected there. The odds of survival in such brutal conditions are already slim, between the attacks, the lack of food, hot daytime weather and cold during the night. The numbers will fall and as they fall, so will their defences. They'll become easier pickings for the Primitives.
"We can't leave them out there," she whispers.
I gather her against me and press her head against my chest, over my heart. Her belly is hard against mine, our child safe between us. I choose my words carefully, not wanting to flatly deny her. "We can't bring that many into the city. We simply don't have the resources."
She tilts her head up to look at me, her eyes distant, her mind whirring as she thinks through the problem. "What would it take to find the resources? What would we need to do to incorporate these people into Sanctuary?"
I thought she'd ask me to find a way or beg for the lives of the survivors from other sanctuaries. It dawns on me that she's starting to understand what it takes to run an entire city. I think about her question, taking it seriously. I don't want to be responsible for the deaths of 10,000 people. If we can find a way around this problem, it's worth exploring.
I pull a chair out from the table, sit down and pull her onto my lap. She curls against my chest, leaning into me. I press my chin against the fine hair on top of her head, enjoying the silky texture against my rough chin. "Food, water, housing and protection are the big four. After that we'd have to extend medical aid, waste control and policing. If we were able to manage all that, we'd then need to establish schools, long term food resources, jobs for the able-bodied adults, and more."
She nods thoughtfully. I can almost see her brain whirring as she picks away at the problem. "Food." She draws the word out as she thinks about it. "The people of the slums have stretched resources many times to cover the refugee families coming in. It's entirely possible to do the same with the other sectors. If we extended the rations of our entire city of 200,000 to temporarily include 10,000 more, no one should go hungry."
I want to tell her that the rations we currently enjoy are carefully balanced to cover the city. It was never meant to extend to include the numbers we're talking about. But she has a point, the slums, though poor, have cobbled together a system that works. "It would be a temporary and unsustainable fix. How do we deal with the food shortages long-term?"
"The third greenhouse," she says decisively. "It's already most of the way finished. It stalled when Manuel Sharp was killed, and then again when the riots got bad. If we get that process restarted and work on a long-term source of food, the city rations should balance out again."
"I can't spare anyone to the effort," I tell her. "You would have to be in charge of the project. Find people to help build the greenhouse and do the planting."
"I can do that," she says eagerly, seeing a solution just within sight.
I don't want to burst her bubble, but if she's going to take on the role I have planned for her, advisor to the Warlord, then she's going to need to think about every possibility. "You won't be capable of managing a project this big until after the baby is born."
"Of course I can," she tips her head back to give me a small glare.
"But you won't," I tell her bluntly. "You need to concentrate on this baby. I won't have you stressing about anything city related until I know you have the strength to handle the problems that arise with managing large projects."
She sighs irritably. "Fine, Emery can manage the project until we can find a more permanent solution."
"I've said no to this idea before, Taran," I tell her warningly. I don't mean it though. I want to hear what her agile mind comes up with.
She shakes her head, rubbing the top against my chin. "She's proven herself completely trustworthy. Not only did she hide you in your time of need, but she's been stepping up to protect the families in the slums. She's been taking on more of a leadership role too, convincing former rebels to find a more peaceful solution."
She opens her mouth to say more, to defend her friend and argue her points. I gently cover her lips with my palm. "Good enough, Taran. If she'll accept the responsibility then it's hers."
She tilts her head back again, her eyes sparkling and her mouth curving into a smile. "Thank you, Diogo."
I nod and press a kiss to the top of her nose. "I've noticed Emery quietly working toward a unified city these past weeks. Her efforts have convinced me she can handle more responsibility. You better check with her though. She's not young anymore, she may not want to take on a project of this size."
"She will, I know she will," Taran says enthusiastically.
We sit quietly, enjoying the warmth and hominess of our new dining room and kitchen area. Taran and Emery went to a lot of effort to create a home, adding softer touches here and there. A salvaged china unit with the original glass still intact sits in the corner, filled with mismatched dishware and cutlery. The furniture is also mismatched, the table created from salvaged wood and the chairs all different shapes and sizes. Somehow it works though. Our home is colourful, happy. I will do anything to preserve this feeling. To protect my family. If anything were to happen to them, to Taran and the baby, I would burn this world to the ground and follow them into death. They are my Sanctuary now and protecting them is my biggest priority.
After a few minutes of silence, I notice a shift in Taran's mood as she becomes thoughtful once more. "What about the other problem?"
"The power plant," I acknowledge.
It has become the elephant in the room everywhere I go. HQ, home, meetings. If we don't shut down the one plant that's relatively close and still online then we won't have a place to call home, let alone a city to rule over.
"One thing at a time," I tell her, trying to sound reassuring, minimize a potentially massive problem. "Right now the Primitives are occupied chasing the refugees. I've had reports from scouts that the guards on the plants are holding steady. We're still trying to figure out why or how they targeted the eastern stations."
"Maybe they've done whatever they set out to do."
Again, we fall silent as a chill settles over us. Primitives aren't supposed to be reasoning, thinking creatures, yet somehow, they worked together to bring the eastern power plants down. I have my theories on what's happening but won't be able to confirm until I gather more information about the actions the Primitives are taking.
"One thing at a time," I repeat. "You are not to worry about the Primitives. I won't allow them anywhere near you or the baby."
She laughs and shakes her head. "Trust you to order me not to worry."
I turn her on my lap and take her mouth with mine, my lips lingering over hers in a slow, sensual kiss. I breathe in her scent of wild sunshine, enjoying the weight of her on my lap. She's heavier, curvier, and she's all mine.