“Like Moses, huh?” Albert said.
“What?”
“Like Moses coming down off the mountain with the Ten Commandments,” Albert said.
“Those were written by God,” Astrid said. “This wasn’t.”
She tripped a little walking down the steps but caught herself. No one was paying particular attention as she entered the crowd. One or two kids called out greetings. Many more made rude or hostile remarks. Mostly kids were focused on the small fires, where venison and chunks of fish browned on skewers made of wire clothes hangers.
She reached the fountain, which was close enough to the cook fires that kids noticed when she climbed up and unfolded her papers.
“Everyone…,” she began.
“Oh, puh-leeze, not some speech,” a voice heckled.
“I…I just have a few things to say. Before you can eat,” Astrid said.
A groan went up. One kid picked up a piece of dirt and tossed it with poor aim—and not too much commitment—at Astrid. Orc took two steps, brushing aside a couple of kids in the process, and made a low growling noise with his scary face right up against the kid’s nose. That signaled the end of dirt throwing.
“Go ahead, Astrid,” Orc rumbled.
Astrid noticed Edilio hiding a smile. Back a million years ago, back in the old life, Astrid had tutored Orc.
“Okay,” Astrid began. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. “I…Okay. When the FAYZ came, all our lives changed. And ever since then all we’ve tried to do is get by, day to day. We’ve been lucky because some people worked very hard and took big risks to help us all make it.”
“Can we eat now?” a younger kid cried.
“And we’ve all been focused on getting by and focused on what we’ve lost. Now it’s time to start working on the future. Because we’re going to be here for a while. Maybe for the rest of our lives.”
That drew some very harsh words, but Astrid kept going.
“We need rules and laws and rights and all,” Astrid said. “Because we need to have some justice and some peace.”
“I just want food,” a voice cried.
Astrid plowed ahead. “So, you’ll all get to vote on this. But I’ve written down a list of laws. I kept it simple.”
“Yeah, because we’re too stupid,” Howard said, suddenly just in front of her.
“No, Howard. If anyone was stupid, I was. I kept looking for some perfect system, something that wouldn’t involve compromising anything.”
That got the attention of a few more kids.
“Well, there is no perfect system. So I wrote down an imperfect set of laws.”
“Rule number one: Each of us has the right to be free and to do whatever we want as long as nothing we do hurts anyone else.”
She waited. No heckling. Not even from Howard.
“Two: No one can hurt another person except in self-defense.”
Grudging attention was being paid. Not everyone. But some, and more as she continued.
“Three. No one can take another person’s possessions.”
“Not that we have anything much to take,” Howard said, but was shushed.
“Four. We’re all equal and have exactly the same rights. Freak or normal.”
Astrid saw the glint of anger on Zil’s face. He was looking around himself, seeming to take the temperature of the crowd. She wondered if he would make a move now or wait for another opportunity.
“Five. Anyone who commits a crime—stealing or hurting someone—will be accused and then tried by a jury of six kids.”
Some of the crowd were losing interest again and beginning to cast sidelong glances at the food. But others waited patiently. Even respectfully.
“Six: lying to the jury is a crime. Seven: penalties can be anything from a fine to getting locked up in a jail for a period of a month or more, to permanent exile from Perdido Beach.”
The crowd mostly liked this. There was some clowning around, kids pointing at each other, some shoving, mostly good-natured.
“Eight. We’ll elect a new town council every six months. But the council cannot change these first nine rules.”
“Are we done, yet?” Howard asked.
“One more. The ninth rule,” Astrid said. “And this is the one I have the most doubt about. I kind of hate the idea of this rule. But I can’t see any way around it.” She glanced at Albert and then nodded at Quinn, who frowned and looked confused.
This, finally, got everyone’s attention.
Astrid folded the paper and stuffed it into her pocket. “Everyone has to live by these laws. Normal or freak. Regular citizen or member of the council. Except…”
“Except Sammy?” Howard supplied.
“No!” Astrid snapped. Then, more calmly, refusing to be provoked, “No, not except Sam. Except in the event of an emergency. The council will have the right to suspend all other rules for a period of twenty-four hours if there’s a major emergency. In that case the council can appoint a person, or several people, to act as Town Defenders.”
“Sammy,” Howard said. He laughed cynically.
Astrid ignored him and instead focused on Zil. “And if you think that’s directed at you, Zil, you’re welcome to think so.”
In a louder voice Astrid cried, “You’ll all get a chance to vote, but for now, temporarily, these rules will be the law as soon as a majority on the council says so.”
“What?”
“Like Moses coming down off the mountain with the Ten Commandments,” Albert said.
“Those were written by God,” Astrid said. “This wasn’t.”
She tripped a little walking down the steps but caught herself. No one was paying particular attention as she entered the crowd. One or two kids called out greetings. Many more made rude or hostile remarks. Mostly kids were focused on the small fires, where venison and chunks of fish browned on skewers made of wire clothes hangers.
She reached the fountain, which was close enough to the cook fires that kids noticed when she climbed up and unfolded her papers.
“Everyone…,” she began.
“Oh, puh-leeze, not some speech,” a voice heckled.
“I…I just have a few things to say. Before you can eat,” Astrid said.
A groan went up. One kid picked up a piece of dirt and tossed it with poor aim—and not too much commitment—at Astrid. Orc took two steps, brushing aside a couple of kids in the process, and made a low growling noise with his scary face right up against the kid’s nose. That signaled the end of dirt throwing.
“Go ahead, Astrid,” Orc rumbled.
Astrid noticed Edilio hiding a smile. Back a million years ago, back in the old life, Astrid had tutored Orc.
“Okay,” Astrid began. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. “I…Okay. When the FAYZ came, all our lives changed. And ever since then all we’ve tried to do is get by, day to day. We’ve been lucky because some people worked very hard and took big risks to help us all make it.”
“Can we eat now?” a younger kid cried.
“And we’ve all been focused on getting by and focused on what we’ve lost. Now it’s time to start working on the future. Because we’re going to be here for a while. Maybe for the rest of our lives.”
That drew some very harsh words, but Astrid kept going.
“We need rules and laws and rights and all,” Astrid said. “Because we need to have some justice and some peace.”
“I just want food,” a voice cried.
Astrid plowed ahead. “So, you’ll all get to vote on this. But I’ve written down a list of laws. I kept it simple.”
“Yeah, because we’re too stupid,” Howard said, suddenly just in front of her.
“No, Howard. If anyone was stupid, I was. I kept looking for some perfect system, something that wouldn’t involve compromising anything.”
That got the attention of a few more kids.
“Well, there is no perfect system. So I wrote down an imperfect set of laws.”
“Rule number one: Each of us has the right to be free and to do whatever we want as long as nothing we do hurts anyone else.”
She waited. No heckling. Not even from Howard.
“Two: No one can hurt another person except in self-defense.”
Grudging attention was being paid. Not everyone. But some, and more as she continued.
“Three. No one can take another person’s possessions.”
“Not that we have anything much to take,” Howard said, but was shushed.
“Four. We’re all equal and have exactly the same rights. Freak or normal.”
Astrid saw the glint of anger on Zil’s face. He was looking around himself, seeming to take the temperature of the crowd. She wondered if he would make a move now or wait for another opportunity.
“Five. Anyone who commits a crime—stealing or hurting someone—will be accused and then tried by a jury of six kids.”
Some of the crowd were losing interest again and beginning to cast sidelong glances at the food. But others waited patiently. Even respectfully.
“Six: lying to the jury is a crime. Seven: penalties can be anything from a fine to getting locked up in a jail for a period of a month or more, to permanent exile from Perdido Beach.”
The crowd mostly liked this. There was some clowning around, kids pointing at each other, some shoving, mostly good-natured.
“Eight. We’ll elect a new town council every six months. But the council cannot change these first nine rules.”
“Are we done, yet?” Howard asked.
“One more. The ninth rule,” Astrid said. “And this is the one I have the most doubt about. I kind of hate the idea of this rule. But I can’t see any way around it.” She glanced at Albert and then nodded at Quinn, who frowned and looked confused.
This, finally, got everyone’s attention.
Astrid folded the paper and stuffed it into her pocket. “Everyone has to live by these laws. Normal or freak. Regular citizen or member of the council. Except…”
“Except Sammy?” Howard supplied.
“No!” Astrid snapped. Then, more calmly, refusing to be provoked, “No, not except Sam. Except in the event of an emergency. The council will have the right to suspend all other rules for a period of twenty-four hours if there’s a major emergency. In that case the council can appoint a person, or several people, to act as Town Defenders.”
“Sammy,” Howard said. He laughed cynically.
Astrid ignored him and instead focused on Zil. “And if you think that’s directed at you, Zil, you’re welcome to think so.”
In a louder voice Astrid cried, “You’ll all get a chance to vote, but for now, temporarily, these rules will be the law as soon as a majority on the council says so.”
